


The Importance of Being Ori

by Smuttysmutwriter



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Always a girl Ori, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, Sassy Gandalf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 69,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuttysmutwriter/pseuds/Smuttysmutwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Hobbit Kink prompt where Nori and Dori tell everyone that Ori's just much younger then them, but the truth is, Ori's a woman. No one would have let a woman go on this adventure, since they're so rarely born to dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt:-
> 
> Nori and Dori tell everyone that Ori's just much younger then them, but the truth is, Ori's a woman. No one would have let a woman go on this adventure, since they're so rarely born to dwarves. Dwalin catches on, 'cause Ori'd flirted with him in the past when her brothers weren't around. So, Dwalin & Ori are all flirtin up a storm, and Dori and Ori are doing their best to keep the separate (thinking this is just friendship and Dwalin doesn't know but might find out) . Or if they know Dwalin knows, they think he's no good for their baby sister. (Or both?)
> 
> I've decided to deviate a little from the original prompt and still keep Ori fairly young by dwarf standards, if only because it provided extra impetus to bring her along for the journey. 
> 
> My first work in this fandom. I hope you enjoy.

“This is stupid!”

“Hush!” Dori snaps at Nori, Nori rolling his eyes back at him. Dori’s hands shake around the scissors he holds, trying his hardest to cut a straight line on Ori’s fringe. Whisps of brown hair fall onto Ori’s nose and shoulders. 

“It’ll never work! They’re going to take one look at her and know.”

“Please Nori!” Dori pleads, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

More hair falls, Dori finally has the straight line across the forehead he was looking for, that and the new braids on either side of Ori’s face make an acceptable, if not precisely fashionable (it has been years since Dori has tried to keep up with these sort of things), young dwarf lad’s hair style. 

“Right, now stand up la-“ Dori stops himself, “…laddie. Let’s see how we look.”

Ori stands and tries to smile, it coming out lopsided and nervous on her face. Dori wrings his hands. It…it almost works. Ori has made a strong effort to grow out her beard, and it has come through well, but the fact that she grows little more than a wisp or two of hair on her upper lip could be their undoing…

And there are other…more obvious tells. 

Dori had asked Nori to find clothes specifically two sizes larger than what Ori would normally wear in an attempt to hide her womanly form (luckily already slender for a dwarf maid. Dori thinks back with irony to the years Ori had spent sobbing into her pillow as a younger lass, bewailing how she could not grow fine and stout, with the heavy breasts and wide thighs prized amongst their people. Who would have thought it would prove her salvation now?), but it is not enough. Under the thick flopping tunic the unmistakable curve of breast and dip of waist can still be seen, her hands are still too small and delicate, and her neck, Aule be merciful, at least the beard covers most of it, but still, it is still unmistakably a woman’s neck! 

Dori is suddenly possessed of an idea. He runs to one of their mother’s old chests and opens it, finding the old winter woolens stored there for the colder months. He pulls out a thick woolen vest, some gloves, a scarf and has Ori put them on. Then he stands back and looks at his work. 

Yes. Yes! It might almost work now! They might actually get away with this!

Dori is brought back to ground by yet another contemptuous snort from Nori, “Now she just looks like a woman with an ugly haircut wearing too many clothes.”

Dori rounds on his brother, finally snapping, “And pray tell, what ideas have you had for our conundrum, brother? What would you like to do? Leave her here all alone? No parents, no guardian, barely any money left, in a city of strangers and unattached dwarves just looking for a well born young maid to take advantage of!!? Would that be preferable to you?”

Nori crosses his arms over his chest, “We’ll wish we had when Thorin finds out you’ve bought a lass on their quest. How did you even get this past Balin? Surely he would remember it is a sister we have, and not a brother…”

“Apparently he does not, thank heavens! And he seemed very interested when I pointed out to him how fine our younger _brother’s_ penmanship is, that he has a talent for drawing, and would be more than willing to act as scribe for our journey,” Dori gives a wry smile, “I had a harder time convincing him to agree to take you…”

Nori grunts and turns away, “Just don’t expect me to speak for you when you’re found out.”

“And your word would count for so much,” Dori mutters, not loud enough to hear. It was easy for Nori, he had always been…odd, not as bound by the strong ties of kin as other dwarves, happy to leave at a moment’s notice with barely a care for the pain it caused those around him, uncaring also about the shame his scheming and plots brought onto the family. 

Dori was much more bound to family, he could no more imagine leaving his younger sister behind, alone and unprotected in a land not their own, with no kin around her, than he could imagine cutting off his right hand. No, she would come, there could be no other way. 

Dori pushes these thoughts out of his mind, and picks up Ori’s bag to hand it to her, “Now…have you packed everything? Extra books and pens for the road?”

“Yes!” she says impatiently, her turn now to roll her eyes, “You fuss too much.”

“I have to,” Dori smiles indulgently and pats over Ori’s hair one more time, “It’s a big brother’s job to fuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

They’ve made it this far and Ori is starting to feel just a little like Dori’s idea might actually work. They’re all sitting around the Burglar’s table, eating his fine food and drinking his ale, and none of the other dwarves they sit with have even a clue about her little secret. 

She had been worried as they walked up the rather unassuming hobbit hole where the company would meet tonight (she doesn’t take that as a bad sign, for really the best burglar would be the one you least suspect from looking at), surely they would see through Dori’s awful haircut and her hastily grown out beard, and see her for what she was. But, as they had come up to the door, meeting with some old friends of her brother’s (distant kin she suspects), Messers Gloin and Oin, and other dwarves they were not familiar with, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, and they had greeted her as a man, spoken to her as a man, offered her ale and food and expected her to serve herself as a man would once inside, she started to believe. 

It was happening. She was fooling them! She was actually going on an Adventure!

Ori had to admit she had never seen herself as the adventuring type. She had always considered herself a fairly conventional maid; dreaming as the other girls did of a fine home under a mountain, a blazing hearth, strong husband and fine fat children to care for. But now, faced with the prospect of partaking in such an important quest, her skills with pen and pencil made useful, she admitted the idea was more appealing than it had been. 

And then she had laid eyes on Dwalin and had almost ruined everything!

She hadn’t seen him in years, it would have been decades, she still a child and clinging to her mother's skirts when last they had met, but even then she had known he was a fine figure of a dwarf, strong and proud and oh, with such a _fine_ beard. Time had only improved the great warrior, of that Ori was certain. There were more tattoos covering his head, more scars on his arms and grey in his beard, but if anything this only added to his appeal, he was like a hero from the great tales she had read and loved as a child. 

And she had stared. And giggled, _giggled_ , when he had spoken to her, making some general comment about what a good night it was for the meeting, and Dori and grabbed her elbow and dragged her away, asking with a sharp hiss if she wanted to be found out before the quest even got started!

Now she sat between her brother and Bombur at the table, thinking to herself how nice it was to be able to eat without any concern for table manners for a change. She shoved a too large piece of ham into her mouth and chewed heartily, laughed when Fili put his foot half on her plate as he walked over the table handing out more ale. Dori gave her a dirty look as she gave an impressive burp to the table, she pulled a face at him back. He wanted her to be a boy, didn’t he? Well, he was going to get a boy!

Thorin arrived and the meeting started in proper. Ori sat and watched in awe. There she was, at a meeting of great dwarves, planning the retaking of their home from a fire wyrm! It was almost overwhelming and when the wizard, Gandalf deferred about his experience in the killing of dragons, Ori was at her feet before she knew what she was doing. 

“I’m not scared. I’ll show him!” she yelled, remembering enough to lower voice, as she’d been practicing, “I’ll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”

Dori grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into her seat, his brow like thunder. Nori suddenly looked very pale and took a long drink from his mug. Why were they moaning all of a sudden? That was manly, wasn’t it? 

The table descended into an argument and Ori stared down at her hands in her lap, suddenly missing her well kept lady's hands (Dori had made her chew her nails down, rub dirt under them, "Mam always said you can tell a lady from her hands...."). She looked over the table and saw Dwalin deep in conversation with his brother, Mister Balin, and the feeling began to ache inside her. Suddenly she doesn't care about adventuring or dragon gold, she wants her nice hands back, her hair oiled again and properly braided, one of her finest dresses on (the deep red one perhaps... ah, but they had to sell that one...).

Ori decided to go find Mr Baggins, she needed to do something with her plate…

Later in the night, Ori is settling down in what will probably be one of the last beds she has access to for some time. She isn’t sure how Dori managed to talk the burglar into giving the three of them one of the last spare bedrooms but she’s thankful for it and for the privacy the door to the room gives. 

Nori unrolls his bedroll on the floor next to Dori’s while Dori paces. 

“Now, we got away with tonight but no more outbursts, Missy-“

“Mister,” Nori corrects from the floor. He may not be convinced of the wisdom of Dori’s plan but it is too late to change things now. ‘Can’t stop a stalactite once it’s growing,’ as their Father would have said…

“Yes…” Dori wrings his hands, “From now on you just keep your head down and focus on writing down everything Mister Thorin or Mister Gandalf says. Have you got notes from tonight’s meeting?”

“Don’t worry, I got everything down, even the Burglar’s faint,” Ori holds out her notebook to Dori for him to look at. He flips through a few pages then stops giving Ori an exasperated look over the top of the book before turning it to show her the page where she had begun a sketch of Dwalin. 

“Hey! Give it back!”

Dori doesn’t, shaking his head and closing the notebook before packing it into Ori’s bag, “Don’t you dare start mooning and June-ing, gir-…boy. Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s doesn't mean nothing! I have to do a sketch of every member of the company! I just…thought I’d start with Mister Dwalin,” Ori sinks into the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin, _mortified._

Nori makes a disgusted noise from the floor, turning over, “You better not set your cap to him, Ori, I swear. Over my dead body…”

Ori looks to Dori for an explanation. Dori just shakes his head again, “Mister Dwalin may have had your brother arrested on one or more occasions. And Ori isn’t setting her cap to anyone, not now, not when we’re on the road, not even when we get to the Lonely Mountain!”

“Not ever, if you had your way…” Ori grumbles, blowing out the last candle. 

She hears Dori settling into his bedroll, “Ah, there’ll be plenty of time child…maybe in a few years, when you’re older.”

Nori gives a long yawn, “And when I’m dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I messed up the chain of events of what happens at the Unexpected Party so you'll have to forgive me for that (I've only seen the movie twice).


	3. Chapter 3

_“You do realise that’s a woman, don’t you?”_

Gandalf gives a short snort and looks down at Bifur from under his hat, where he may have been having a light doze. He blinks and is silent for so long that Bifur repeats what he said, this time pointing empathetically at young Ori on his, well…her…pony up ahead. 

“Mister Bifur, do you honestly think there is anything involving this company of which I am not aware?” 

Bifur seems to think on this for a moment, (that was not the response he had anticipated), he scratches his chin, _“And you’re all good with it, are you?”_

“Is there a reason I should not be? The Company needs a scribe and our young friend is as good as any,” Gandalf raises one eyebrow, “Have you told anyone else about,” he waves his hand on Ori’s general direction, “…this situation?”

Bifur gives a contemptuous snort, _“Oh aye, I’ve tried. Same old problem though, they hear what I have to say but no-one really listens…”_

Gandalf gives a deep sigh, he knows a little of that…

 _“See, watch here…”_ Bifur turns to the side and addresses his cousin Bofur, whose pony is closest. He points to Ori, _“Hey, Bofur, that one over there’s a girl.”_

Bofur gives a friendly smile back, “Aye, the weather has been good so far today.”

_“I’ve got my suspicions about Fili as well, no dwarf man’s hair is that shiny.”_

“No, afraid I don’t have any cake on me, sorry. I could ask Bombur though…”

Bifur turns back to the wizard, _“You see? See what I deal with!”_

“I sympathize Mister Bifur,” and Gandalf really does, “but still, every person on the quest is here for a reason. I may not be quite sure of all of the reasons yet, but believe me, there are ones. And I suggest we keep this…hmm…information, between ourselves for the time being…agreed?”

Bifur grunts and shrugs, _“I suppose she’s no less useful than your burglar. At least she hasn’t been whining about the lack of handkerchiefs for the last five miles…”_

As if on cue Bilbo’s voice floats over to them from behind, saying that really he wouldn’t be long, they could just camp for lunch and he’d pop straight home and pick up some hankies and be right back…

Gandalf gives a long sigh, “No, I suppose not,” then turns his horse to go and give Bilbo the talking to he so clearly needs. 

~*~*~

Three weeks on the road and the Company has started to fall into a steady, almost comfortable, routine. There are no orcs yet that they can see, everyone is getting along well, and generally, things are going as well as can be expected. 

Ori’s confidence as a boy has only grown as each day has passed. Her brothers have been careful and so has she, and there have been no slips. One of the hardest things is coming up with excuses about why she never bathes with the others, but between the three of them they usually can come up with something. 

If Ori thinks about it, they were getting over confident. That’s always when you come closest to falling flat on your face in front of everyone at the dinner table. Which is almost what happened one night as some of the company sit around the fire; some waiting for their watch, others for sleep to come. 

“You know,” Dwalin says suddenly, taking a long slurp of his stew and gesturing at Nori and Ori with his spoon, “and this may just be my memory playin with me, but I remember visiting with you back when you were living in the Iron Hills and I was certain it was a sister you two had, not a younger brother…” 

Ori feels Nori go tense beside her, not breathing out. There is a long moment of silence before Dori speaks up from the other side of the fire, though the question was not directed to him. 

“We do. Yes, we do have a sister…and a brother…young Ori’s twin,” he says, just a little too quickly. 

The others still sitting up around the fire nod and make understanding noises. 

“O aye…I remember now,” Balin looks up, trying to think back, “And what was her name again?”

“Hmm?” Dori pretends not to have been listening, “Whose name?”

“Your sister’s name.”

“Ah…yes. Our sister’s name,” Dori looks across the fire at Nori.

“…The name…of our sister…” Dori swallows loudly. Nori hands go out slightly, ‘I don’t bloody know!’ written on his features. Dori feels sweat run down the back of his shirt. 

“The name…of our sister…which I am about to say…is…ahem…”

Balin is looking at him like he’s mad, Dori coughs again to buy himself more time. Think…think! _Why didn’t they think of a name??_

“Is Ori!” Nori suddenly blurts out and all the eyes around the campfire snap over to him, “Our sister’s name is Ori.”

Bofur waits a moment before replying, when he does his voice is slow, “But…his name is Ori.”

“Yes,” Nori licks his lips, “His name is Ori…and so is our sister’s. Our mother only thought she was pregnant with one, and got very attached to the name, so when her time came and two babes were born, she gave both the same name…save her the trouble of trying to find another she liked.”

“Doesn’t that get a bit confusing?” Bofur asked.

“Ah, not really. We just call ‘em Ori One and Ori Two back home.”

Dwalin gives a snort of amusement across the fire, “And which one are you, laddie?” he asks to Ori. 

“Oh…” Ori looks up from her notebook and gives Dwalin a smile, trying to resist the urge to touch her hair, “I’m definitely Ori One.”

“I bet you are.”

Nori is suddenly possessed of a coughing fit, he slams his fist into his chest and gestures to Ori for his water flask, taking a long drink when she brings it to him. 

“It’s time for bed,” he croaks when he can speak again, voice rasping. Ori is about to protest but the hard look in Nori’s eye brokers no argument and she heaves a sigh, picking up her book and pen and heading over to her bed roll. Typical Nori, ruining everything. 

As she slips between her blankets, Dwalin’s voice drifts over to her from the fire. 

“That explains it then. See brother, I told you there was another of Dori’s lot, I never forget a pretty face.”

She isn’t sure what makes her happier, the knowledge that Dwalin remembers her from their mother’s house and thinks her pretty, or the fact that there is probably steam coming from Nori’s ears right now. 

She’s still angry at Nori though when he comes to get ready for bed himself an hour or so later. She keeps her blankets pulled high and her back stiff when he tries to say goodnight. She hears him huff behind her. 

“Ah, come on petal, don’t be cross,” he whispers.

Ori pulls up her blankets over her head, “Don’t ‘petal’ me. I’m just trying to have a conversation and you’re acting like I’m planning to run away with him! How are they supposed to believe I’m a proper member of this company when I can’t even talk to anyone!?”

“You can talk to anyone you want, you just can’t talk to him.”

Ori makes a disgusted noise and shuffles away from Nori in her bedroll. 

“All right, all right, I’m sorry. I’ll wind it back a bit but you’ve got to stop staring at him with those moon eyes of yours. He’s not right for you, pet.”

“Do ye ever think that I might know what’s right for me better than you?”

Nori snorts, “You’re barely in full skirts, you wouldn’t know a mine from a hole in the ground let alone who’s right for you.”

“And you do I bet?”

“I know you and I know _him,_ ” Nori won’t even speak the dreaded Dwalin’s name, “and I know you, petal, could do a whole lot better.”

Ori sniffs and says nothing. Nori gives a long breath out of his nose, “Come on now, let’s talk about something else. What’re ye writing about in your book there?”

Ori rolls over after a moment and with a huff shows Nori the list she’d been working on, “It’s what I’m gonna do with my share of the treasure.”

“Oh aye?”

“Mm hmm, first thing I’m gonna buy myself is a place down in Dale…”

“You don’t want to live under the mountain?” Nori props his head up on one hand. 

“There’s been a great bloody dragon knocking about in there for the last sixty years, it’s gonna be a while before it’s livable again, it’ll be a year at least before they get the dragon smell out of everything. No, see, I’ll buy a little place down in Dale, three bedrooms so you and Dori can come and visit, decorated exclusively in the style of the late Second Age…”

Nori chuckles, “You’ve given this some thought I see?”

“Like you haven’t,” Ori continues on, “The larder’s always going to be full and it’s gotta have a big wardrobe, for the clothes I’m gonna have…”

“Ahhh, I knew that was coming. You always did love your fine skirts and dresses, even when you were little,” he settles back into bed, “Mam’d sew you a new one and you’d rush through the house showing everyone how you could twirl in it…”

Bofur sits up in his place (which was a little closer to their bedrolls than Ori remembered it being) and gave an exaggerated yawn, “Oh goodness me…is it time for my watch already?” before scrambling up and walking very quickly over to the fire. 

Ori sits up as well, clinging to her sheets and watching him go, “Nori! How much do you think he head?”

Nori groans and rubs a hand over his face, “Augh…I dunno Ori. We didn’t say anything too telling…I don’t think…”

“Should…should you go and talk to him? Or should we tell Dori?”

“No! We’re definitely not telling Dori,” Nori says firmly (Dori’d flay him for being so obvious, talking about Ori’s dresses at all, let alone where another of the Company could hear them), “Besides, Bofur probably just thinks we’re a bit weird, is all. Now come on, you need to sleep.”

“Alright. Night Nori.”

“Night pe…night Ori.”

Over by the fire, Bofur sits on the edge of one of the logs, and if any of the few who remain around it notice he has an odd look on his face they don’t comment on it. Dwalin passes from where he’s come from keeping Gloin company on his watch and pats Bofur on the shoulder as walks past, settling down next to Balin to sleep. 

Or so he thinks. Balin is doing that thing he does where he strokes his beard and makes little ‘hrm’ noises, what he usually does when he wants to talk…

Dwalin sighs, no sleep for a while then, “What's on your mind brother?”

“Nothing…nothing at all. It’s just nice is all…”

“What’s nice?”

“That you’re…well…taking an interest again. It’s been, what…15 years since Bessr, it’s about time you stopped moping. I have to admit I’m a little surprised, you haven’t shown much of an inclination towards boys before but these things are known to change…”

Dwalin rolls over and stares at Balin in the dim light, “What in Aule’s name are you talking about?”

“You and…” Balin waves his hand in the general direction of where Ori and his brothers are sleeping, his voice lowers, “…the boy. It’ll be good for you.”

Dwalin snorts, rolling back onto his back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re going mad from the road already.”

“Am I now?” Balin chuckles, “I’m not so old that I don’t see where your eyes wander when not otherwise occupied…”

“My eyes aren’t wandering anywhere. You’re still mad,” Dwalin snaps. He pulls his blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes, putting an end to the conversation. He hears Balin chortle to himself as he settles down to sleep. 

Balin couldn’t be more wrong. He had absolutely not been staring. He wasn’t even the staring type. He had to perhaps admit that Ori was a clever little thing, from what he’d seen, and not bad to look at. Not that he’d had that many opportunities to speak to the lad, one or both of his brothers always seemed to be hanging over his shoulders…

And Balin had been right about one thing; Dwalin had never shown an interest in boys. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it was a fact of life when women were so few and far between, but other men had never held that sort of interest for Dwalin, and that certainly hadn’t changed now!

…Well…not much at any rate. 

Dwalin pushed the irritating thoughts Balin had planted into his mind as well as could out, sleep finding him after some time. And if he dreamt of a pair of bright familiar eyes and a clever mouth whispering filth in his ears, and if he awoke the next morning poorly rested and even less personable than usual, snapping at Bifur and sending the burglar running from his sight, well…that was just an unfortunate coincidence, wasn’t it? 

And if his eyes did indeed drift towards Ori as the lad loaded up his pony and got ready to start out for the day, that was just where his eyes felt like drifting that particular morning. That was probably just a coincidence as well! 

Dwalin let out a sigh and adjusted his axes on his back. 

Perhaps he was having one of those quarter life crises he’s heard about…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about Bifur and his talking. I've decided for the purposes of this fic that he can only speak Kuzduhl but that it's so thickly accented, and interspersed with his own special Bifur-lish, that even the other dwarves can barely understand him most of the time. But Gandalf can...because Gandalf. 
> 
> Also, as a general note for the future, most of the time someone is speaking in italics (unless I'm using them for emphasis), they're speaking in a language other than Westron. 
> 
> Also thanks so much for all the lovely comments and kudos I've been getting guys. It really means a lot. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Ori has never been the sort of girl who held much by the prejudices of other dwarves. Oh aye, she does not trust elves, they are an odd people by their very nature (and so ugly to look at!), but living out on the world of men, moving from town to town as Dori and Nori looked for work, has made her a little more practical when it comes to other peoples than a lot of other dwarves would have found proper. 

One thing she did know about elves was that they appreciated fine smith work, were willing to pay what it was worth, and always paid their bills on time, which was more than Ori could say for an awful lot of dwarves these days. 

Not that she had come into contact with many of the Eldar, when they did seek the goods and services to be found outside their hidden cities in the woods, they usually went through an agent who would bring their orders to a craftsman of choice. Ori had caught the ear of a few of them and, on the condition they never mentioned who exactly they were placing orders for (for she knew Dori’s pride would never allow him to work on horseshoes for an elfish steed), had brought enough work from her and her brothers to keep a roof over their heads. She had even picked up a few words of Sindarian, though that was another one of those things she had enough sense to know to keep from Dori and Nori. 

So she is perhaps less annoyed than some of the rest of the Company when Gandalf’s scheming brings them to the Last Homely House. In truth, she’s thankful for anywhere that is lacking in both trolls and orcs, having become rather more acquainted with both than she would like in the last few miles. 

She sees the rage in Dwalin and Thorin’s faces though, the distrust, and how they keep everyone together in one tight bundle even after they are given rooms and time to bathe before lunch is to be served. Ori thinks to herself they might be overreacting, she’s very thankful for the beds and the private bathing rooms that connect to each guest room (she hasn’t been able to have a proper bath since leaving Mister Baggin’s house). 

Lunch though is very disappointing. Nothing but green and leafy as far as the eye can see. Even if horrid salad was to Ori’s tastes she wouldn’t have been impressed, how is a girl expected to keep meat on her bones when there isn’t any meat on bones to fill her up properly? She’ll fade away to a shadow if she has to eat like this for much longer!

It is with this in mind that Ori slips away from the rest of the Company, telling Dori with a groan that, _yes_ , she’s going straight back to her room, and _yes_ , she will lock her door properly, and follows some of the servants down into the kitchens of Rivendell to ask for a nice hot plate of chips. 

The request is met a look of confusion from the head elf cook, who repeats her request to the other cook standing across the table, who in return shrugs her shoulders and rattles something off in elfish. 

The first cook turns back to Ori and waves his hands in slow circles, “And, perhaps you could assist me young Master, in advising what the main ingredient of ‘chips’ is?”

Ori sighs deeply, “Potatoes. You do have potatoes, don’t ye?”

“Ah yes! Potatoes, of course!” The cook heads into the larder and comes out with a basket of said vegetable, popping them on the table in front of Ori and looking at her expectantly. 

“And you’re going to want to get some oil going, nice and hot.”

Ori’s cook relays this to the other one who, with a roll of her eyes pulls out a deep fry pan, sets it over the stove and pours little more than a drop of oil into it. Ori heaves a sigh, she’s going to be stuck doing everything it seems. 

“You’re gonna want a bit more than that!” She pushes a nearby stool over to the stove and takes the oil jug from the she elf and pours the whole thing in, then closes the vents by the hot plate which control temperature, increasing the heat under the pot, “Now, you want that at a nice boil.”

The lady elf turns to back to the other one, “ _You see what that little thing just did? That’s a whole bottle of Lorien mallorn leaf oil he’s just wasted there!_ ”

“ _The sooner we give him his chips, the sooner he can go. Now make yourself useful and start peeling, he seems to know what he wants done…_ ”

So, with the help of two, slightly reluctant, assistants, Ori soon has enough chips to fill up that gnawing hole inside her, plus a few extra to share which she leaves with the cooks as a thank you. She thinks for a moment that a little gravy would perhaps improve the chips tenfold, but that might be pushing the limits of elfish courtesy. She leaves the kitchen with her bowl, the two cooks each nibbling at the end of a chip. 

She wanders for a while through the halls of the Homely House. She doesn’t really want to go back to her room just yet, Nori and Dori won’t be far from it and she’d like a few moments by herself while she has the chance to enjoy them (Aule knows, she never gets a chance out on the road!). 

Her wandering brings her to the great library of Rivendell and Ori is so overcome with the huge number of books lining the walls all around her (surely, there can’t be _this_ many books in the whole world!) that at first she doesn’t see the elf who sits behind a large desk having a minor panic attack. 

He sees Ori and makes an odd strangled noise, hands flipping around his head. Ori had always heard the elves were a graceful people but thinks this must be one of those things which are greatly exaggerated because there certainly isn’t much grace in this one as he runs around the library, picking up all the silver he can carry in his arms, long legs flapping about madly. 

Ori chews another chip as the elf gathers up the documents he had been working on in his arms, dropping two silver goblets and an ornamental finger bowl in the process and clambers on top of his writing desk, pointing a candle stick in Ori’s direction with shaking hands, breath coming heavy. Ori takes a step to the left and the candle stick follows her movements, she makes a short charge at the elf and giggles to herself as it gives a shriek. 

Another elf enters the library from the rear door, this one massively tall and wide shouldered, golden hair falling to his waist. He speaks in elfish to the smaller, dark haired one.

“ _Erestor, you must come down to the kitchens! You won’t believe what they’ve come up with down there, fried potato strips! They’re amazing!_ ”

“ _Glorfindel! Stop thinking with your stomach for a second and come help me! Can’t you see I’m under attack?!_ ”

Glorfindel looks around Erestor to the small dwarf standing in the doorway, nibbling on his own potato strips and chuckling to himself. 

“ _Darling, me thinks you’re overreacting a little…_ ”

“ _Overreacting?? Can’t you see the murderous glint in his eyes? He’s going to rob me and strip my body of every valuable…and don’t call me darling._ ”

Glorfindel switches into Quenya, a tongue he knows Erestor is not fluent in, “ _If he manages to strip you of anything, dear, he will have done better than I…_ ”

“ _What was that?_ ” Erestor snaps, turning his candlestick on Glorfindel. 

“ _Oh…nothing Librarian, just a little wistful thinking…_ ” Glorfindel says with a wry tone. He walks over to the small dwarf and tries to give a friendly smile, switching to the common tongue, “Hello there, young Master Dwarf. Do you seek something in the library of Elrond Peredhil?”

“Just a place to eat me chips in peace, really. But if I’m not welcome…” Ori looks around Glorfindel at the odd elf and his candlestick. 

“Oh no no, please forgive Master Erestor, he spends much of his day within these walls and is prone to over-excitement. You are welcome to spend as much time as you wish here, would you like me to find you something to read while you eat?”

“That’d be nice, actually…”

Glorfindel manages to talk Erestor down from his table, asking him where the books in Westron are kept. They find enough to keep the young dwarf occupied and set him up in a large chair by a window and leave him to read. 

“ _Now will you come to the kitchens and try the chips with me, Master Librarian, since we have dealt with this terrible threat?_ ”

“ _Well…alright, but I’m bringing the silver with me!_ ”

“ _Whatever you wish, darling,_ ” Glorfindel holds his arms wide and gives a small bow as he lets Erestor walk in front of him from the library. 

Ori sits in one of the large comfortable chairs, eating her chips and looking through the books she has been given. She is so wrapped up in the book handed to her (something about archery, she rather thinks Kili might be interested in it), that she doesn’t hear when someone enters the library, doesn’t even look up until the calloused, tattooed hand lands beside her book on the table with a smack and she jumps in her seat. 

“What’re you doing in here laddie?” Dwalin asks sharply, looking around the library with suspicion, “Your brothers are half mad lookin’ for you…” he pauses for a moment, “and where did you get those chips?”

“Oh…” Ori gapes for a moment, heart beating fast in her chest, “…you want some? I just went to the kitchen and asked and they made me some.”

Dwalin glowers again at that but takes a few from the offered bowl and chews. Not bad…not good by any means, but not bad.

“Course they didn’t know what they were down there, I practically had to make ‘em myself,” Ori takes a few more herself. 

Dwalin chuckles, “I can believe that. This lot wouldn’t know proper food if it lept up and bit ‘em on the arse. You do much cooking do you?”

“Enough. Someone has to get dinner on the table…”

Dwalin cocks an eyebrow at her, “Surely your sister does most of that, doesn't she?”

Ori freezes. Aule, what a stupid mistake! It would be her fictional twin who does the cooking, and not Ori the young lad. 

“O-oh yes…she does…but I like to help out…we share a lot of things like that.”

“Oh aye?”

“Mmm, some even say it’s almost like we’re one person,” Ori says, looking back down at her book and smiling to herself. 

“What’re ye got your nose in there? Some elfish nonsense, no doubt…”

“Ah it’s not all nonsense. This one here’s on archery, I was thinking Kili might like to have a look.”

Dwalin grunts, “I doubt that, and I wouldn’t let Thorin see you trying to show him neither…”

Ori shrugs and closes the book, she swings her legs on the too high chair she’s been placed in, “You gonna help me down from here?”

Dwalin seems to hesitate a moment, he looks over his shoulder quickly, “Yeah, alright.”

He puts his arms up, Ori gripping his forearms and sliding down off the chair. Dwalin notices, for a split moment, how light the boy is, almost bird-like, not the sturdy young lad he expected. The lad comes down closer to Dwalin than expected, almost in his arms and keeps a grip on Dwalin’s forearms for just a little while longer than might be necessary. 

“Oh…you are strong, aren’t ye?” The lad gives Dwalin’s arms a squeeze where he’s still holding him, looks up at the older man under lowered lashes. 

Dwalin licks his lips, “Strong enough…” 

This boy…he’s driving him half mad! Maybe if he weren’t so fine to look at it wouldn’t be so bad; good strong nose, not a bad beard, could use a bit more on the face itself but no-one’s perfect, bit soft around the face for a boy…

“Eh-eem,” there is a loud cough from the doorway to the library and Dwalin and Ori leap apart, Oin staring in at them with an unreadable look on his face. There is a very awkward moment of silence before Oin speaks again. 

“You two better go an’ pack. Thorin’s decided we’re leaving, and not a moment too soon if you ask me.”

Dwalin gives a curt nod, letting Ori walk past him quickly. 

“Your brothers are looking for you…” Oin says, raising an eyebrow as Ori rushes by. 

“How surprising…” the boy grumbles.

Oin waits by the door until Dwalin is passing, he makes a show of cleaning his ear trumpet, not making eye contact as he speaks, “Little young, isn’t he?”

“Ah, mind ya business.”

~*~*~

It seems the higher the Company climbs into the mountains the more horrible the conditions become. As they had left Rivendell the weather had been fine and bright. A day out the mist had set in and things had only gotten worse from there. By the fourth day the rain had set in, driving and cold in the way that settles into your bones and cannot be moved. 

Ori has stopped trying to take notes of the journey. For one thing there is no dry place she can set her writing implements out. The notebooks she writes in are precious, and she doesn’t want to risk losing part of her work to the wet. Besides, what is there to write besides “more walking up mountain…more rain…burglar bemoaning lack of place to light pipe”?

It is on the sixth day that they start to feel tremors with the rain. The whole group is tense and looking for shelter. Even Thorin cannot imagine trying to walk further in this weather. They can barely see a foot in front of them though and Ori struggles to keep her footing, Dori keeping a firm hand on her shoulder as they walk. 

Bilbo almost falls from the side of the cliff, Thorin throwing himself down to pull him up, and Ori thinks nothing can possibly be worse about this awful day. 

Then, the very mountain around them lurches to the side…

She screams as the Earth seems to give away under her, Dori grabbing her and pulling her back into his arms as Nori seems to fly backwards, the part of the cliff he had been standing on suddenly on the other side of a crevasse. 

The very rock they stand on seems to move around them again, but surely that cannot be happening because rock doesn't move like this! This is some terrible nightmare and soon Ori will wake and everyone will be back around the fire and safe and sound, or even better she will be back in her bed at home and Dori will be rushing in with a hot mug of milk and honey to calm her as he always used to…

Fili is beside her and she hears him scream out Kili’s name. Someone yells the words “Stone giants!” and then the rock they stand on twists and more of it gives way, crumbing beneath her feet. Dori wraps one arm around her shoulders and shoves her between him and the rock they stand on, shielding her with his body as rocks slam down around them. 

She screams again as Nori and half of the company are pulled even further back from the rest of them, she tries to throw herself towards them, a foolish, desperate moment, but Dori keeps her firmly in place as more rocks crash down. The air around them rushes past, Ori desperately tries to keep her feet steady and her eyes fixed on the others on their cliff but the rain is so heavy, the rocks keep falling and Dori pulls her in tighter, pulling her head in tight to his shoulder, shielding her from what is going on around them. 

“JUST HOLD TIGHT!” he roars in her ear, using his strength to hold them tight to the giant’s leg they’re clinging to, “YOU DON’T LET GO OF ME, YOU HEAR?”

Then the air is roaring past them again and it’s all Ori can do to hold onto her stomach and hold tight to Dori. She hears him grunt and feels the impact of a boulder hitting his back. He grabs her even tighter, if that were possible. 

Everything is a blur of movement. She buries her face further in her brother’s shoulder and prays. If she lives through this, if all of them do, she’ll do anything, she won’t talk to strange men on the way to the market, she won’t flirt with Dwalin, she won’t even marry, she’ll stay in her brothers’ house for the rest of her life if it means they can all live. Aule please let them live, they’re all she has left…

With a massive crack the giant’s leg hits the cliff face (the real cliff face this time) and they all tumble forward, Ori still clinging to Dori with every ounce of her strength. Then they are still, mercifully still, the rain and the wind the only things moving around them. 

There is a shout from behind them but Ori doesn’t move until Dori does, sitting up slowly, not letting go of him yet. Then Nori is upon them, his arms around them both and Ori clings to his shirt. There’s no time for tears through, as Thorin gathers the company and roars for them to seek shelter. 

A cave is found quickly nearby and it is only when they’re inside that Ori starts to cry, clinging to Nori’s shirt. She doesn’t care that perhaps a boy wouldn’t cry so easily or quite so loud and for once Nori and Dori don’t seem to mind either. Nori makes soothing noises and whispers in her ear.

“’Ere pet, it’s alright. We’re all alright now, aren’t we?”

Everyone gets ready to sleep, too exhausted and perhaps too shocked to think to speak to each other. Ori doesn’t mind that there is no fire, or that Dori and Nori put their bed rolls so close on either side of hers, in fact she welcomes it, just as she welcomes Dori’s hand in hers as she drifts off to sleep. Because they’re alive, and together, and for the moment they’re all safe. And that’s all that matters. 

Ori wakes as the ground gives way under her…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The average body mass of the residents of Rivendell goes up 3% in a year after Ori introduces them to chips...


	5. Chapter 5

There are screams. And hands, nasty clammy hands encrusted with dirt and slime and blood grabbing at her. She hears the others yelling and shouting around her, a different type of sound from the goblins’ excited shrieks. She thinks she hears Dori shouting her name above all of it but she’s can’t be sure because the noise is deafening. 

Ori tries her hardest to be as small as possible. That’s what Dori told her on the way to the Baggins’ house:

_“Now, if you ever get into trouble lassie, you just stay in one place, keep your head down and me or Nori will come and find you. We’ll always come.”_

He’d probably been thinking about them getting separated, or maybe if the Company was involved in a bar fight or something (a near inevitability when travelling with a bunch of dwarfs, who are as short tempered as they are a stubborn people), not the whole company getting trapped in Goblin Town. 

There are so many hands scrabbling and scratching at her. One of the goblins rips her scarf right off from around her neck, half choking her in the process and then pulls her to her feet. Then the whole Company is being pulled along, struggling and fighting the whole way. She see a few goblins falling down the side of their rickety walkways and tries to see behind her. Dwalin is still fighting, her brothers too, all of them are, and that gives her a little heart. 

“’Ere,” a rat faced goblin hanging onto Ori’s left arm leans in close, “This one…this one ‘ere…it’s different…it _smells_ different from the rest.”

Terror sends frozen water through Ori’s veins. _No, please no…_

The other goblin holding onto her other arm, this one’s face so mangled it barely counts as such, leans in and takes a sniff, “Aaaaah, yer talkin’ nonsense. I can’t smell nuffin different.”

“Am not!” Rat Face snarls, “What’d you know? You only gots half a nose anyway!” 

“I gots half a brain which is more than you has! What d’ya think it smells of anyways, oh Great Sniffer of West Goblin Fells?”

“I dunno…” Rat Face leans in again and Ori shrinks back, closing her eyes tight. The goblin's breath is hot and wet across her cheek, she smells it and her stomach rolls. 

“Sorta smells like…”

Then Rat Face goes flying over the side of the walkway and Half Nose gives a nasty shriek. Ori looks over and sees Bifur, suddenly by her side, blood on his face and a wild look in his eyes. He’s headbutted Rat Face right off the cliff! 

_“It’s gonna be alright lassie! We’ll get out of this!”_ he yells at her, just as Half Nose screeches to get more goblins on the big ones and three more pounce on his back. But Ori just looks at him with terror in his eyes, not understanding, just as all the others do. At that time he wishes more than anything he could make them listen, make himself understood. 

Bifur looks around at this dark and awful place, the sounds of goblin squeals and whoops almost deafening and back at the poor girl’s horrified face. Somehow he doubts it would help here…

~*~*~

It’s when the goblins panic, the King seeing Orcrist and yelling how many of their people it had killed, that Ori gets the bite. 

At first she isn’t sure what the red hot, awful pain in her side is, all she knows is that something has managed to work its way through all the layers of clothing she wears and has found her flesh. She looks down and shrieks, kicking out at the sharp toothed goblin attached to her side. It snaps and hisses and starts towards her again, teeth bared…

And then white light fills the cavern, and for a moment Ori is blind. 

She hears Gandalf’s voice in her ears before she can see him, but it fills her with such hope. Gandalf is here! He is here and will save them! They are all going to survive this!

“Come! Pick up your weapons and fight! Fight!” the wizard roars. 

And Ori scrabbles around on the floor around her, still unable to see, until her hands wrap something long and smooth and heavy, something she knows from the very feel of it is a weapon. She picks it up, eyes squeezed closed, and swings it wide, hearing a satisfying crunch and snarl as her weapon slams into goblin flesh. 

When at last she can see, she looks down and sees she has Dwalin’s hammer in her hands. She looks around for him in the melee, hoping she hasn’t taken his only weapon but sees he is well equipped with both of his axes. 

Then there is no time to do anything but run, which Ori does, swinging the hammer with as much skill as she can muster whenever a goblin gets too close. The hammer is too large for her, not weighted properly for a woman’s use, but she notes with some pleasure that no small amount of goblins fall before her from its blows. 

Ori is only reminded of her wound when finally they stop running, out in the forest again, out of the goblin’s cave. When they all stop moving, Gandalf doing a quick headcount and berating the Company for losing their burglar, that is when the dull ache starts, radiating up her side. 

Ori puts her hand to her side, where she can feel the pain starts from. When she brings it up closer to her face, she can see her mitten is dark and wet. She scrunches her face up and leans more of her weight against Dwalin’s hammer. Dori’s going to be so cross with her…

“Hey!” Dwalin’s hand claps down on her shoulder, “You weren’t bad in there with that, laddie. I reckon you might have found a bit of a hidden talent there…are you alright?” His eyebrows come together in concern, “You look a bit pale there…”

“I…I think I’m hurt…”

Dwalin doesn't get a chance to respond, the unmistakable howl of a warg sounding loud behind them. 

Then everyone is running again and Ori wonders if they’ll ever stop…

~*~*~

On top of the Carrock, they stop for a moment to catch their breath and look out at the Mountain where they can see it in the distance. Dori is so excited to see Erebor again, he tugs at Ori’s arm and speaks excitedly to her about the great city. Ori tries to show an interest, she knows how important this is to Dori, but the pain in her side is a heavy throb now and it’s hard to concentrate. All of a sudden she feels so tired…

The Company starts its descent from the Carrock, because a windy outcrop of rock is not the best place to set up camp. Every downward step sends bolts of pain up Ori’s side and they are barely halfway down before her feet are dragging and stumbling over themselves. 

She almost collapses in place when Thorin calls a halt at the base of the Carrock, they’ll sleep here tonight. Dori and Nori happen to be closest to him and he tells them to gather firewood for the night. 

Ori’s legs give out as her brothers walk into the forest to collect wood. She presses her hand to her side and the warm dampness there seems to have spread. Durin’s beard, it hurts so much! She’s never known pain like this…maybe if she sleeps on it tonight it will be better in the morning…she does feel so tired…

“Hey! Hey Ori mate…” Fili appears beside Ori and gives her cheek a little tap, “Hey, you alright? You’re not looking the best…”

Fili tries to help Ori sit up but he’s listless in Fili’s arms, eyes barely opening as he speaks to him. He puts his arms around Ori’s waist to try and pull him over to a nearby rock to lean against but he pulls them away as soon as he feels something sticky and wet against his arm. Fili lifts Ori’s arm, jerks back as he sees the dark patch of blood down Ori’s left side. 

“Oin! Over here quickly! He’s hurt!”

Oin grabs his healing bag and rushes over, half the company coming with him. He looks at the blood patch, takes in the boy’s poor colour and listlessness. He presses his hand against Ori’s forehead, the boy’s burning up! Mahal above, it’s probably a goblin bite, their mouths are full of the nastiest things. 

He has to get a look at the wound, clean it out as well as he can. If the poison’s already in Ori’s blood then he won’t make it three days. 

“Here now, laddie, let’s get this off and have a look at the damage…” With a nod to his brother, Oin and Gloin start pulling off Ori’s jacket and cardigan. Oin starts on the lad’s tunic and all of a sudden Ori starts to struggle, pushing his and Gloin’s hands away and moaning out a no. All of a sudden Bifur starts making a fuss behind them, snapping about cheesecake and flat rates of taxation, until Thorin roars at him to be quiet. 

“Come on Ori lad, we’re all men here, no need to be bashful…” and Oin undoes the last of the buttons on Ori’s tunic, pulling it open to look at the lad's wound… 

There is an awful moment of silence; Oin sits back on his heels, mouth hanging open. Thorin claps his hand down over Kili’s eyes. 

“What!? What’s happening? I can’t see now! Is it gross? Are Ori’s tubes hanging out?”

“Somethin’s hanging out…” Bofur offers, ever helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Cliffhanger!


	6. Chapter 6

“Nasty business, goblin bites…” Oin says, taking Gandalf’s offered pipe and taking a very welcome puff. He rubs at his eyes. It’s been a very long night. 

The wizard makes a noise of agreement, checking the dressings they’ve wrapped around Ori’s waist. The bleeding is mostly stopped, and at least what is coming out is clean blood, not the thick dark ooze which he and Oin had spent most of last night draining from the wound. 

There is an awkward flapping at the blankets they have tied up between two trees, creating an impromptu tent to give Ori a little privacy, Thorin clears his throat loudly. He doesn’t come in. 

“Is everyone decent?”

Oin and Gandalf share an eyeroll. Oin is a healer, he often finds himself tiring of dwarfish propriety when it came to their women, Gandalf finds himself easily tired of all forms of propriety, dwarven or no. Still, he tucks another blanket over Ori up to her neck before telling Thorin he can come in. 

Thorin pokes his head into the tent and looks down at young Ori, his mouth twisting. She seems so small now, without all those layers of clothes her brothers (a pox on both of them!) had bundled her up in. How could he not have seen it?! 

He scratches at his chin, “How is she?”

Oin tries to stretch out his back in the limited space, “She’ll live. She might not have if she tried to keep it from us much longer. I think it might be wise if we stay put today, give her a chance to get back on her feet…”

Thorin scowls, hating the idea of any day spent not moving towards their goal. Gandalf harrumphs and reminds Thorin that their trip by eagle has in fact placed them well ahead of schedule, thank you very much, and a day spent letting one of their company recover from injury would not be poorly spent. 

“Now, tell her brothers they can come in and see her, as long as they let her sleep.”

Thorin barely has to speak Dori’s name before both brothers are rushing past him and into the tent. Gandalf backs out of the other end of the tent, stretching out all the kinks in his back and trying to unrumple himself. He casts an eye over the rest of the Company; although it’s the first night in some time they’ve had a whole night to sleep, no-one looks particularly rested. 

Thorin strides back over to the fire, purpose in his eyes, “Right…now who else knew of this? Speak now!”

Bifur puts his hand up, Bofur tilts his head from side to side, considering. 

“I was workin’ through a few possibilities, but with full hindsight, this really makes the most sense…”

Thorin rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes, “Mister Balin, Mister Gandalf, a moment if you please…”

Thorin, Balin and Gandalf all walk away from hearing distance of the rest of the Company. 

Thorin crosses his arms over his chest, “Balin, how many days walk is it to the next town?”

Balin sucks at his teeth, Gandalf instantly huffs, putting his hands on his hips and pulling himself up to his full height. 

“You cannot be seriously thinking of sending that poor girl off to the next human settlement, all by herself?”

“No…” Thorin looks mildly offended, “I am thinking that we accompany her to the next human settlement and _then_ leave her.”

Gandalf makes a disgusted noise. Thorin stands firm. 

“Are you truly suggesting we keep her in the Company? We are nearing the Mirkwood, that is no place for a woman…not even a woman from the looks of her! She is little more than a child! Have you forgotten where we just came from? You know what would have happened to her if she had been discovered by the goblins…”

Balin rubs at his forehead, “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Thorin starts to pace, “No. It doesn’t. There is no question. The wild is no place for a lady. We will make sure she is well provided for but this is where her journey ends. I will speak to her brothers on the matter…”

“And you will find if you do send her away you will lose not one but three members of your Company!” Gandalf snaps, struggling to control his temper (confound these dwarves and their nonsense!), “Because I can assure you Mister Thorin, if you questioned them you will find the start of this deception was an attempt to keep a family together. They will not be separated now!”

Gandalf takes a breath, “Not to mention, have you forgotten that you will lose your scribe if you send her away? Of course I’m sure we could find another to fill the role, Fili’s _intuitive_ approach to spelling certainly makes for entertaining reading…”

“She is a burden! She will only slow us down!” Thorin yells, loud enough for the rest of the Company to hear. 

“We have not slowed pace because of her thus far, and what has happened to her now is hardly her fault! If you, yes _you_ , Thorin Oakenshield, had waited for me at the start of the Pass like I instructed then the whole goblin incident could have been avoided. And may I remind you…” Gandalf leans in closer to Thorin, raising one bushy eyebrow, “That there was one other member of this company who you felt would only prove to be a burden…”

Thorin’s cheeks puff out with rage, he gives a frustrated groan and storms off into the forest, no doubt for some of that ‘deep introspection’ he was so fond of (known to the rest of the Company as ‘Royal Moping’). 

Dwalin watches Thorin go. He doesn’t need to have been a party to the conversation to know what was said. His eyes drift over to the tent he helped string up the night before. Dwalin is a dwarf who has seen many battles, witnessed horrors most gentle folk would shrink just from the telling of, but even he has been unsettled by last night’s events. Hearing the lass crying out for her mother through the night, weeping from pain and fever...it’s not something he ever wants to relive. 

Anger comes back to him as he thinks back to the night before. He had been one of the first who had ran to Ori’s side when Fili had called out that he-…she was injured. There had been that awful moment of shock, then Oin pulling the poor girl’s tunic closed and snapping at the rest of the Company to find him the largest blankets they could find to make him a tent. 

He and Gloin had pulled blankets from their bed rolls and strung them up between two trees. Oin had carried her in and Dwalin still remembered how pale and frighteningly still she was as the healer had laid her down on a blanket. 

Then Dori and Nori had come back from collecting the firewood, Nori asking what was going on and who was getting a tent all of a sudden? Dwalin couldn’t even look at them as Gandalf took them aside to speak to them. _How?_ How could they do this? Bring a girl, _their little sister_ , out into the wild like this?

His anger stayed firmly directed Dori and Nori, he could not bring himself to blame the girl. It was clear she was only following where they lead. But even that had dimmed as he saw Dori cry, bending over on himself and weeping openly as he heard Ori cry out in pain from inside the tent. Nori had been silent, all colour drained from his face. 

“Hey,” he’d said quietly, crouching down beside Nori to stoke the fire, “She’ll pull through. She’s pretty tough for such a wee thing.”

Nori hadn’t said anything back. 

There was another part of Dwalin which had felt just a tiny bit vindicated when the truth came out. He _knew_ there had only been a younger sister in that family, twins were rare enough among dwarf circles that he was certain he would have known about a pair living in Erid Luin, even if it was over 50 years ago. He resisted the urge to tell Balin ‘I told you so’ (barely). 

This of course led his mind to his conversations with Balin, encouraging Dwalin to pursue Ori. Mahal above! If he had felt conflicted enough about his feelings for the boy when he _was_ a boy, Ori suddenly being a girl just made him feel worse…if for slightly different reasons. She was so young for one thing! An innocent out here alone with her idiot brothers! And he was almost 100 years older than her. Of course, she had been just as young and he just as old when she was a boy, but still…this definitely made it worse. 

Dwalin resolved with himself then, he would not act on his attraction, at all. He wouldn’t even indulge in looking at her or thinking of her, he would not encourage her crush on him at all. He wouldn’t respond to her flirting. In fact, he would find a way to let her down gently…somehow (because, heaven knows, gentle wasn’t his strong point). That way once this quest was over (and it seemed certain now that the wizard was set on keeping her in the party, and wizards have a general habit of always getting their way), Ori would be able to find someone her own age to be with. 

Dwalin’s train of thought is interrupted by Thorin, who chooses this moment to come storming back into the clearing. 

“I have come to a decision regarding our current…situation! Entirely on my own and without any influence from other parties!” Thorin states, as if making a royal decree, “But before we go on…are there any other women in this Company? And yes, Mister Bofur, if that is your real name, I’m looking at you!”

Inside the makeshift tent Ori wakes with a start, thinking for a moment that the dim light inside is the blackness of the goblin cave and trying to sit up, start running again. Dori puts a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her down and making soothing noises. 

“Shh, love, lay down now. You’re alright, you’re safe.”

Ori’s breath comes quickly as she looks around the tent, she relaxes slowly, laying back down. As she shifts on the mattress pain shoots up her side and she remembers, not much, so much is blurry, but enough to know they have been discovered. 

Tears come to her eyes. She’s going to be sent home. They all are and its all her fault! 

“Hey now, pet,” Nori asks softly, brushing Ori’s fringe off her forehead, “What’re the tears for?”

“Th-ey know…everyone knows…”

“Now don’t you worry about any of that,” Dori says, “Mister Gandalf is going to fix everything. He said so. You just rest for now. Here, have some water…”

Ori lets Nori pick her up under the arms and push her up so she’s leaning against Dori’s knees. Her eldest brother puts a water flask to her lips and she drinks, her throat parched. 

“Is Mister Thorin very angry?” She takes the flask in her hands, sipping slowly. 

Nori grimaces, “Well I don't think he’s exactly pleased…”

“But it’s nothing for her to worry about…as I said,” Dori says firmly, giving Nori a warning look over Ori’s head, “Are you hungry love? Mister Oin said you could have a little something to eat if you were…”

Ori settles back down on the ground, handing Dori back the flask, “Maybe a little something…”

“I’ll go see if Mister Bombur has breakfast on. Are you warm enough? There are more blankets if you're cold…”

Ori squirms as Dori places her cardigan (folded neatly beside her in the tent) over the blankets already pulled to her neck, “I’m fine Dori…”

“No!” Dori says suddenly, mouth firm and somehow trembling as well, “No, you’re not fine Ori. You almost…” he stops suddenly, closing his eyes, “I’ll go and see to breakfast.”

Dori leaves the tent, Ori gives a little sigh and lays back. Her side aches, she tries to find a more comfortable position on the ground. 

“Let him fuss a little petal, it makes him feel better to be doin' something. You know how he is,” Nori tries to smile down at her, tickling her under the chin. 

“Aye, I know how he is…” Ori gives a sigh. 

The next morning Oin checks Ori’s wound and declares her well enough to travel.

“Though I would be much comforted if she had time to recover properly…” Oin muses to Gandalf as he bangs at his ear trumpet with the small toymaker’s hammer he borrowed from Bifur, trying to force it back into shape, “Mahal knows, we all could use a little rest…”

“Very true, Mister Oin,” Gandalf gives one of his knowing smiles, “But luckily for all of you, I have already thought of that.”

Ori is nervous as she dresses herself, not sure of the Company’s reaction to her once she comes out of the tent. Only her brothers, Mister Oin and Mister Gandalf have come to see her in the tent (she thinks…she spent most of yesterday sleeping after all). 

She had lain awake last night, after Dori had brought her dinner and made sure she ate all of it (“Come on now love, Kili and Fili worked hard for that brace of coneys. Eat it all up.”), and listened to the signing. The songs Ori knew were all sung, all the favorites, but then Bofur started up a song she didn’t know, one of his and his people’s, an old Broadbeam song. A tale of one of their women, a queen who, from the sounds of things, fought off a battalion of orcs with only a broom handle and with her youngest strapped to her chest. She had drifted off to sleep as the other’s started to harmonize under him, dreaming of defeating Smaug herself simply by sweeping him out of Erebor with a dragon sized broom. 

She steps out of her tent and instantly feels every eye in the camp turn to her. There is an awful tense moment which seems to last an age, no-one speaks. Ori looks down at her shoes. 

“Hey! Ori mate!” Fili calls out from the other side of the clearing, “I got your breakfast here. Hurry up or the burglar’ll have it.”

And then things are alright and the morning carries on as normal. It is almost as if nothing has changed at all, as if she is still a boy. Fili though delights in telling her about Thorin’s magnificent strop after ‘the revelation’ over breakfast and makes a point of referring to her as ‘mate’ and ‘old chap’, as if the whole thing is a magnificent joke. Kili also now appears to be unable to talk to her in anything other than monosyllables ('yes', 'no' and ‘snuh’ being the most popular). She muses to herself that the illusion has been firmly shattered. 

The Company moves out, Gandalf leading the way. She spends the first half of the day walking beside Mister Bilbo, his pace is slower than the others and his chatter is amusing in the way gossip about people you’ve never met always is. By lunch though Ori is feeling every step she takes in her wound and she’s starting to fall behind. Dori carries her on his back, Ori only argues for a little while. 

Dwalin walks beside them for a while. He gives the girl a small smile and she gives a tired one back. 

“Hey, Dori,” he says, not even thinking of his words, “If ya need a break I can take her for a while…”

_(No you idiot! What happened to the resolve?)_

Dori turns on Dwalin, outrage plain on his face but still impeccably polite, “Thank you Mister Dwalin but I am perfectly capable of carrying Ori myself and if I am not she has another brother who has the gift of all his limbs about him!” 

Dori increases his pace, drawing ahead. Dwalin is certain he hears the words “the nerve!” and “Well, I never…” drifting back towards him. 

“He’s only trying to help, Dori.”

“Oh, I bet he is!”

By nightfall, they reach the home of Beorn.


	7. Chapter 7

The house of Beorn offers all the Company a chance to rest and recover their strength, but none relish the comforts of the house (and need them as much) as Ori does. 

The pile of straw and furs she sleeps on at night is, to her, the most luxurious of beds, better for her still healing bite than the hard ground. She relishes in sleeping as late as she likes, or at least until Dori calls her for breakfast. He somehow always manages to slip her cream from the top of the morning’s milk, giving her a kiss to the temple and saying they’ll put some weight back on her yet. 

During the day Ori splits her time between writing and drawing. There is much she has to catch up on as Company scribe, and she’s anxious to prove she is just as capable as a girl as she was as a boy. She debates over recording her injury into her notes, it seems important to mention as it’s at least part of the reason they’re enjoying Beorn’s hospitality, but up until now she hasn’t written her own exploits into her records, she rather had the idea of being a nameless, faceless narrator of the quest. These are the great deeds of Thorin Oakenshield and Company in the retaking of Erebor after all, not “Ori Takes a Walking Holiday and Other Things Happen.”

She also has the chance to catch up on her series of portraits of the rest of the Company. The light around Beorn’s house is lovely and she starts to work her way through the Company. Misters Oin and Gloin are very accommodating and are happy to sit for her as long as she likes, though Mister Oin does start napping after an hour or so. 

Bifur asks to go next (or so she thinks, he could have been offering her investment advice as well) and though he fidgets quite a bit he isn’t a bad subject. He seems very pleased with her work, jabbering off a quick recipe for lemon tart and then presenting Ori with a small wooden top, hand carved with images of wild beasts, as thanks. 

This particular morning though Ori tires of working at Bofur’s smile (his dimples are proving hard to get just right) and wanders around Beorn’s garden. It's a warm day and she enjoys being able to take off her cardigan and coat, she doesn’t have anything to hide now after all. She finds a tree stump and sets up her notebook to do some brief sketches of the mountains to the east but soon grows bored and plays with her top instead. 

She is unaware of eyes upon her. Dwalin watches from where he sits on a log at the top of a slight rise, positioned in such a way so that if asked by anyone (Dori and Nori particularly) he can say he is simply looking out at the mountains and planning their course through the Mirkwood. 

He sighs to himself. That resolution not to stare at or think about Ori lasted about, oh, twelve hours in the end. Perhaps he _was_ having some sort of life crisis after all, panting over a girl not even in her 80’s must be a sign of some sort of condition, surely…

…Or maybe he was just turning into an old letch, that was also a distinct possibility. 

“Mister Dwalin!” Fili drops himself down on one side of Dwalin, Kili joining them on the other, “What captures your attention on this most lovely of days?”

“Nothing that concerns you two,” Dwalin grunts, giving Fili a hard glare and _definitely_ not looking at Ori as she puts her toy top in a pocket and starts sketching again. 

“You’re very sharp this morning. Oh let’s not beat around the mineshaft here, we both know you’re sweet on our young Miss Ori…”

“And we, for two, support your suit,” Kili says with a firm nod. 

“You were clearly made for each other,” Fili adds on. Mahal, Dwalin hates it when they do this, this… _thing_ …they do. He can't even explain what it is exactly but they’ve been doing it since they were children, and somehow it always grinds him down. 

“Besides,” Fili continues, “I have a feeling Uncle is starting to think of _arranging_ something between me and her after the quest is over and we can’t be having that.”

“She not good enough for ye, is she?” Dwalin snarls, turning on Fili who shrinks down in his seat. 

“No no! Truly, she’s a very fine woman!”

“The finest!” Kili offers from Dwalin’s other side. 

“But she’s not for me, Mister Dwalin. I see her only as a friend. Which is why we want to help you and her…find your ways…”

Dwalin give a deep sigh, “Oh aye, and how do ye plan on doing that?”

Fili shuffles closer, speaking confidentially, “Miss Ori, she isn’t the type of dwarf woman you’re used to dealing with. She’s grown up in the world of men, she’s got them modern sensibilities.”

“You’re not going to be able to bash a few orcs over the head and bring her the skulls and have her just fall into your arms all ‘oo-ooh Mister Dwalin!’” Kili affects a high falsetto, flopping over with the back of his hand to his forehead for emphasis. 

“But luckily for you, we know all about the new modern woman,” Fili finishes. 

“We do,” Kili agrees, giving a sage nod. Dwalin raises an eyebrow. Kili has a tendency of turning bright red and losing the power of speech when Ori asks him to pass the salt, he very much doubts his credentials in regards to the ‘modern woman.’

“You see, it’s all about the art of conversation these days,” Fili throws an arm over Dwalin’s shoulders, “You’ve gotta be just a little bit charming. Compliments are always a good place to start.”

“Tell her she’s got a nice bottom. Everyone likes to hear that…I know I do.”

Dwalin snaps around to look at Kili, “What?”

“See…Hey, Bombur!” Kili yells over to Bomber, who is standing not far from them picking blueberries from a bush for tonight’s dessert pie.

“Yes, Kili my lad?”

“You’ve got a very nice bottom.”

Bombur beams back at them, “Well, thank you for noticing!”

“You see?” Kili smiles up at Dwalin. Dwalin resists the urge to smack the both of them. 

“It’s all very simple really. We’re certain you’ll get the hang of things,” Fili’s arm slipped down and clapped Dwalin on the back, “And really there’s no time like the present is there?”

“What are ye…? No!”

But Fili was already away, striding down to where Ori sits by her stump, sketching a large black beetle as it makes its way up a long stem of grass. 

“Ori old mate, are you busy right now?”

Ori looks up from her sketching, smiling at Fili, “Not at all.”

“Well Mister Dwalin was just saying what a good job you did on Mister Gloin’s portrait and how he’d like you to draw him next.”

“Oh…” Ori brushes her hair off her face, “I’d be happy too. There’s a tree over the other side of the house with a seat, I’ve been doing most of the sittings there…if you like…”

“Seems as good a place as any,” Dwalin says, a little sharper than he intended to. Ori nods and picks up her book and charcoal, motioning him to follow her. 

As they start walking away from Fili and Kili, Dwalin makes the mistake of looking back at the two of them. Fili gives him a thumbs up, Kili nods encouragingly and mouths something at him which looks a lot like ‘rice cotton.’ 

~*~*~

Balin watches from the shade of Beorn’s porch as Dwalin sits for his portrait, his younger brother shifting uncomfortably every few moments. He narrows his eyes and takes a long puff of his pipe. Mahal above, nothing was going to happen if someone didn’t do something! Why was Dwalin so appallingly proper all of a sudden? 

“There’s something to be said for the courtin’ process you know,” Oin muses from where he sits beside Balin, as if he has read his mind, puffing at his own pipe, “Behaving properly…”

Balin scoffs, “If everyone’s parents had behaved properly then I very much doubt half the members of our Company would be here today. Besides, it’s easy for you, your brother’s married. It's high time Dwalin was settled…”

“You’re not settled.”

“I’m different.”

“You’re interfering. You’re worse than that wizard sometimes, I swear. Besides, she’s a bit on the young side, isn’t she?”

“She’s 78, it’s a perfectly suitable age for marrying,” Balin strokes at his beard, he usually preferred to have Oin on side for his schemes (not that they were _schemes_ , not really…more like…gentle proddings). He decides to try a different tack, “Didn’t you mention seeing fields of blue bells in front of the Mountain in one of your visions…”

“Aye, that I did.”

“A flower of marriage, is the blue bell. A wedding would be just the thing to set a good tone once the Mountain’s ours again, encourage people to start moving back…”

“We have to reclaim the Mountain first…” Oin grumbles, he brings out his little hammer and starts tapping at his ear trumpet again, “And it has to be this girl does it?”

“Oh well, there’s so many choices, what with unmarried dwarf lasses just falling out of the sky and into our laps these days!”

Oin shook his head, looking heavenward, “Alright, alright, ye’ve made your point. So what’s your scheme this time?” 

“They’re not schemes, they’re proddings, we’ve discussed this. And I don’t think we even need to prod them that much, they’ll find their way. We more have to work on prodding her brothers away from the both of them, give them a chance to…” Balin paused, trying to think of the right words, “…get to know each other.”

“Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” 

Balin chuckles, leaning back on the seat and taking another long puff from his pipe. Oin and he are both silent for a while, Oin raises an eyebrow as Dwalin and Ori get up and Ori leads Dwalin towards one of Beorn’s smaller barns. 

“You’re still an interfering old coot, you know that?”

Balin laughs.

~*~*~

“In truth I’m nearly done with yours, I started it earlier on our quest,” Ori stands and shows Dwalin the portrait she’d started of him the first night the Company met. 

Dwalin looks over it for a good long while before handing it back. He sniffs, “It’s good. You’ve made me far too handsome though…”

Ori tugs at one of the plaits in her beard, “If you think so.” She sits next to him on the bench and swings her legs. He doesn’t move. 

“You know, one of Beorn’s dogs has a litter of pups in that barn over there,” Ori points to the smaller barns, a little further from the main house, “Do you want to see?”

Ori has a strong feeling that Dori and Nori would most certainly not approve of her asking that. She also has a strong feeling that she really doesn’t care, especially when Dwalin gives a nod and she starts to lead him over to the barn. Getting bitten by a goblin and almost dying tends to make you reassess your priorities. Life’s pretty short, now that Ori thinks about it, far too short to spend a day not drawing or to worry too much about if Dori would approve of her being in a barn alone with Dwalin. 

“See, aren’t they lovely?” Ori whispers, poking her head around the door to the stable box where the mother dog has set up a nest for her pups. They’re still very small, their eyes not even open yet but all suckling greedily from their mother. The dog looks up at Dwalin and Ori and regards them for a moment, before laying back down again, not bothered in the least. 

They watch for a while before Ori suddenly speaks again, “I always wanted a puppy when I was little, like the human children had. Dori always said no, said it wasn’t fair on them since we moved so much, and well…it’s not really dwarfish is it? Keepin a dog or a cat, they don’t belong underground. ”

Dwalin leans against a wall, “I have a hard time believin’ anyone can say no to you, lass.”

Ori giggles in that charming way she has, “Believe me, Dori’s awful good at sayin no when it comes to me.” She stands and bends over, brushing the dust off her knees. 

_She does have a nice bottom_ …Dwalin mentally slaps himself. He is beginning to think this might not have been a good idea, disappearing off somewhere with the girl. They should be getting back, before someone finds them and he gets in trouble with Dori and Nori...

“What do ya think’s up there?” Ori muses, examining the ladder which leads up to the loft of the barn. She tests out the strength of the bottom rung.

“Nothing that concerns us, lassie. Now come on, lunch is almost on and- hey! Ori, what are you doing!?” Dwalin runs over as Ori, with alarming speed, begins to climb the ladder. 

“Miss Ori,” he uses his firmest voice, “You come down from there right now! It’s not safe!”

Ori’s head pokes over the edge of the loft, “Oh no, it’s quite fine.”

Dwalin has terrible images of Ori falling, of her head cracked open on the barn floor. Argh, curse these modern women! He starts to climb up after her, being very careful not to look down. Like any dwarf he is not fond of heights, which has always seemed a little odd to him. Dwarves are a people perfectly happy to live suspended from nothing but a bit of thick robe in the middle of a mine shaft, but ask them to climb up a ladder above ground…oh no, not happening. 

He makes it to the top of the ladder and steps onto the loft. He looks around for Ori, hisses her name out, and is rewarded when her head pops out from behind a few bales of hay. 

“Oh, there you are. Come see what I’ve found over here.” There is straw caught in her hair, her cheeks are pink from the climb.

“Ori…” Dwalin growls and stalks over, “You’re going to be the death of me lass, I swear…”

“Look, it’s an old bird’s nest!” Ori grabs Dwalin’s arm and pulls him closer, pointing to the nest in the corner of the loft, “I should have brought my things, the light’s lovely in here, nice subject for a sketch…”

“Is that all ye ever think about, girl? Your sketchings?” Dwalin says fondly, picking the piece of straw out of Ori’s hair. She’s still holding onto his arm. 

“Oh no, I think of lots of different things…”

“Like what?”

And that was when Ori leapt up and kissed him. 

~*~*~

“Oriiiii…O-riiiiiiiiii…” Dori calls out, standing on the edge of the porch and looking this way and that over the garden for his younger sister, “Ori love, it’s time for lunch…”

He puts his hands on his hips and huffs. Where had that girl wandered off to now? Nori walks out of Beorn’s house to join his brother, chewing on an apple. 

“What’re ye yelling about now?”

“Ori hasn’t come in for lunch yet. I’m getting worried…”

Nori takes another bite, “She’s probably just playing with those pups again in the barn.”

Dori gives a ‘hmm’ of agreement. He sets off to the barn Nori pointed out. Silly girl, leave her around an animal for two seconds and she loses track of everything…

~*~*~

Dwalin isn’t sure how he ended up on his back in a pile of hay, Ori laying on top of him with her shirt open, her hands running over his arms, pressing insistent kisses to his lips. She’s warm and soft and lovely, so different from the rest of his life on this quest, and it almost makes him forget about how this is a Very Bad Idea. He’s playing with fire right now. 

Not the good kind either…

He gently pushes her up, “We should be getting back…I think I heard someone callin’ lunch…”

“I’m not hungry…” she murmurs. Dwalin chuckles wryly, his hands slide down her torso, feeling the curve of her waist and softness of her belly. His hands catch the bandages around her bite wound and he turns her slightly to look at them. 

“How’s it healing?”

She shrugs, “It still hurts…Mister Gandalf says it might always get sore, even after it’s healed. I’m going to have scars too, maybe not as impressive as yours…”

She traces her index finger over the long scar which goes from Dwalin’s forehead to cheek. 

“Will ya meet me here again? I like this spot…”

Dwalin really wants to say yes, he so wants to say yes and listen to her gasp and moan some more, run his hands over soft flesh, breath in her scent…but again, that’s one of those Very Bad Ideas. 

“Ah lassie, I’m not sure that’s a good plan…”

“Why not?”

He grimaces, brushes her fringe out of her eyes with one large hand, “You’re so young lass…”

Ori sits up, rolling her eyes and pulling her tunic closed, “I’m old enough to know what I want to do with myself. I’m nearly 80 you know.”

“And I’m nearly 170, doesn’t mean every idea which passes through my head’s a good one…” he pauses, shifting against the pile of hay he’s lying on as she leans down again and rests her forehead against his. He speaks firmly now, “We shouldn’t, no…we _won’t_ do this again, lass. Not while we’re on the road.”

She picks up one of his broad hands, placing it on her thigh and presses a kiss to his lips, “I thought you liked me…”

“I do! Believe me Ori, I like ya a lot. But we’ll be caught, there’s no doubt about it. Your brothers will kill me, and you know it, if they find out.”

Ori heaves a sigh. Her brothers, following her everywhere, even when they weren’t… 

“Let’s not talk about them. Tell me about Erebor again. Tell me about the libraries…”

_“Ori!”_

Dori’s voice sounded out from the barn below them, sharp and cutting. Dwalin’s fists clench, he feels his stomach tighten. Ori instantly sits up and scrambles off his lap. 

“Ori! Are you in here?”

She turns to Dwalin and puts her index finger to her lips, a cheeky smile on her face. She buttons up the last buttons on her tunic and crawls over to the edge of the loft, looking down at Dori. 

“I’m up here!”

“Ori! You get down from there right now, young lady! What in Mahal’s name possessed you to climb up there in the first place?”

“I just wanted to look. Give me a moment, I have to put me shoes back on…” 

Ori comes back from the edge of the loft and grabs her boots, slipping them on. Dwalin sits perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. He knows if he makes any sound Dori will (somehow) be able to see him, lying on a pile of hay in a state of undress, with Dori’s young sister, also in a state of undress, and, Mahal above, he doesn’t want to think about the consequences of that!

Ori is, apparently, a girl who doesn’t share Dwalin’s concerns about playing with fire, because as soon as she has her shoes on she climbs back onto Dwalin’s lap and kisses him again, hungrily. 

“Meet me later, after everyone’s asleep.”

Dori calls for her again from the barn floor, more insistently this time. 

“I’m coming Dori!” Ori groans, then winks at Dwalin one last time before starting her climb down the ladder. 

Dwalin doesn’t move, doesn’t dare, as he hears Ori and Dori bicker on their way out of the barn. Only when the barn door slams shut does he move, looking carefully down from the loft. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

That girl is going to be the death of him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Balin and Oin are old guy bros who like to sit around all day and interfere in their family's lives. 
> 
> Ok guys, admission time, I originally intended this fic to only go to the end of the movie but it's gotten away from me (as my writing often does). I want to take it to the end of the book but I'm not sure whether to have a sad canon ending, or a more happy non-canon one. I've decided to leave it up to you guys, let me know what you'd prefer in the comments. :)
> 
> And again, thanks for reading and commenting. I'm constantly amazed that anyone reads what I write, so every comment I get really means a lot. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks they spend in the skin changer’s house, until the Company has all recovered their strength and spirit. Every night as he settles into bed, in front of Beorn’s wide hearth, Dwalin resolves anew not to get him and wee Ori into any more trouble, and not meet her wherever she has chosen for that night’s tryst. 

Each night his resolve slowly crumbles away as each member of the Company falls asleep, until only his and Ori’s eyes remain open. And then he sees her slip away, into the darkness, and every night, though he promises himself he won’t follow, he does (if anything, he has to make sure she doesn't wander anywhere too dangerous…or at least that’s what he tells himself). 

Of course she doesn’t exactly make it easy on him during the day either. Quick looks over the dining table, something truly dirty whispered in his ear as she walks past (where did such a young lass learn such filth, he wonders…probably from those books of hers, dangerous business in general those things), once even a pair of knitted mittens shoved into the top of his bedroll. He doesn’t dare wear them, they’d be too obvious a show of her favour for him, but he keeps them close. 

As they load up their packs, full of food from Beorn’s pantries, and strap them to the new ponies, Dwalin’s eyes find Ori’s across one of the beasts. She smiles and mouths something at him which looks an awful lot like ‘oliphaunt hunt’ as Nori approaches, then pretends to be adjusting the straps on her saddle. Dwalin busies himself with his own mount, hiding a smile. Dirty girl…

Dwalin is certain now, he will marry Ori when this is all over…if she’ll have him of course (he rather has a feeling they won’t get much choice in the matter if they’re ever found out, best not to think of such things though). He wants her in his life, in a bed of their own, a real bed, not a pile of straw or a fur lain on the ground, her curled into his side on cold nights, not shivering in a drafty old barn, maybe working on her book or drawing something. He wants something stable for her, the life she didn’t have a young’un. Durin’s beard, he’d even get her a puppy if it’d make her happy! 

They start the ride out and Dwalin takes up his usual place riding a little behind Thorin, Fili and Kili riding ahead to scout their path. They ride all morning and stop for lunch at a small copse of trees. Fili and Kili come back to camp and report the path is clear. 

“Good,” Thorin gives a nod, then, over-casually Dwalin thinks, walks over to the fire and takes two bowls of stew from Bombur. He looks to be handing the boys their meal, but skilfully manages to evade Kili’s grabby hands, shoving both bowls to Fili, “There’s lunch, go take Miss Ori hers.”

“Hey! I’m hungry too!” Kili whines. 

“I’m not your nursemaid! Mister Bombur’s right there.”

Both lads give impressive eye rolls and groans as they separate, Fili to give Ori her lunch, Kili to get his own. Thorin looks quite pleased with himself and comes to sit beside Dwalin. Dwalin has an increasingly bad feeling about this, Fili’s words from weeks ago come back to him, the ones about Thorin wanting to _arrange_ something between Ori and his oldest nephew once the Quest is over. He thought the lad had just been exaggerating…

Fili doesn’t get very far. He gets two steps away from Ori before Dori swoops in, like a small and quite round falcon, slipping the bowl out of Fili’s hands, turning the lad swiftly on his heels and handing the bowl of stew to Ori himself with a ruffle of her hair, all in one practiced, graceful motion. Fili looks down at his now empty left hand and blinks, as if he isn’t quite sure what just happened to him.

Good ol’ Dori. At least he can be relied upon to be consistent. 

Thorin makes a displeased noise beside Dwalin, grumbling something about ‘blasted older brothers.’ Dwalin grunts beside him…he can sympathize. 

Thorin takes this as some sort of approval of his matchmaking efforts, he leans in to Dwalin confidentially, “I think they’d do well together…”

Dwalin freezes, looking down at his own lunch, “Who would?”

“Fili and our young Miss Ori, of course.”

Dwalin grimaces. He hates keeping anything from Thorin, they’ve been as brothers since childhood, theirs bonds running deeper even than blood from years of travelling and battles fought. To lie to him…he could no more do it than fly. 

He decides to try and divert him instead, “Not sure about that myself. I don’t think she’s interested.”

“What makes you say that?”

_Because her and I spent most of last night rolling around in Beorn’s barn. Pretty sure one of the cows was watching us towards the end there…_

Dwalin just shrugs, guilt sitting like a stone in his stomach, “Just a feelin’ I get.”

Thorin makes a noncommittal noise, focusing on his own lunch. 

They set out again after lunch and Dwalin fights a painful groan as Thorin, for no apparent reason whatsoever ("None at all, thank you Mister Gandalf, and it would be appreciated if you keep your opinions to yourself on matters not magical in nature"), decides that it should be Gloin and Kili who ride ahead to scout this afternoon. 

Kili looks pained, Dwalin feels a twinge of sympathy. Gloin is a fearsome warrior and a good dwarf but he’s got a nasty habit of talking endlessly about that boy of his. By this stage all of the Company had been subjected to _the Chronicles of Gimli the Astoundingly Amazing_.

“And what am I suppose to do?” Fili asked with a petulant tone. 

“Go and ride with Miss Ori.”

Fili draws his horse closer to Thorin’s, Dwalin struggles to hear their conversation. Snatches of ‘I don’t want to’ and ‘we're just friends’ and then ‘you’re the worst!’ drift back to him. 

“Miss Ori! Now!” 

Fili gives a pout Dwalin recognizes well from the lad’s childhood but turns his pony and rides back along the lines to where Ori is riding near her brothers. Dori quickly pushes his pony into a trot until he’s riding right between the two them. 

Balin gives a chuckle from his place next to Gandalf, watching the whole drama play out, “You know, I honestly believe that if Durin the Deathless himself came down and asked Dori if he could take Ori to the fair, he’d be sent right on his way.”

“Oh well, he’d be far too deathless for comfort, wouldn’t he?” Gandalf takes a puff of his pipe, “You really can’t trust a fellow who can't die…”

“Oh aye, hardly proper behaviour is it?”

“Practically elf-like!” 

Dwarves are a jealous people, and it speaks to how obviously Fili and Ori are not interested in each other, that Dwalin is little perturbed by Thorin’s increasingly poor attempts at matchmaking. His discomfort is more directed at the fact he has to hide something from Thorin and that his friend will not get the girl he wishes for his sister-son. 

Still, he cannot deny the satisfaction he feels when Ori crawls into his lap while Dwalin sits up on watch that night. It’s him she wants, even if he’s old and scarred, not the handsome young prince with the golden hair. She sits straddled on his lip, pressing quick kisses to his lips. 

“Thorin’s never gonna forgive me for this…” Dwalin whispers, pulling a blanket over the girl’s shoulders when she shivers from the brisk night air. 

“Ah, he’ll live. Once we have Erebor I’ll write too all my friends and get them to move to the Mountain, there’ll be more girls for Fili than Thorin’ll know what to do with.”

His hands slip down and give her arse a friendly squeeze, “Clever wee pip, aren’t ya?”

She answers him with another kiss. Someone grunts in their sleep and they freeze in place, Ori’s hands tightening on the blanket. Then all is silent and Dwalin kisses her neck before whispering goodnight and sending her back to her place between her brothers. 

That is the last night they risk together on this leg of the journey. Before long they are in the Mirkwood. Thorin sets a quick pace, eager to be through the forest and each night when they stop Ori finds herself so tired she is out like a light before her head even hits her blankets. 

The days in the endless forest seem to blur together, especially when the food runs out. Ori cannot count how many days they’ve been wandering, the only bright spot the Company faces is when Bombur wakes from the sleep he had been trapped in after falling into the enchanted stream. Bofur cries from joy to have his brother back, Bombur weeps from the lack of food and that they are still trapped in this wretched place!

They are too weak to really fight the spiders when they attack. Dori tries to shove Ori into a hole in a nearby log to try and hide her from the horrible creatures. They find her though, they find all of them. 

And then she sleeps…a deep and long sleep, so close to death there seems little difference between the two states... 

Dear Mister Bilbo saves them. 

Dear Mister Bilbo, Ori has grown rather fond of their burglar. It would, of course, have been better if he hadn’t saved them only to have them fall straight into the hands of the wood elves (much less pleasant creatures than Lord Elrond’s lot). 

They take everything from her as she’s shoved into one of the cells, her books and pens and slingshot. Ori’s days are dull, almost maddening, and although she is fed, the food does not agree with her. She regularly throws up her breakfast, much to her captor’s disapproval. 

On the fourth day Ori vomits, the nausea coming too quickly for her to reach the bucket she has been given and half of her already chewed breakfast ending up down the front of her cardigan, her jailers finally reach the end of their tethers and she is dragged before the Elfin King. 

_“Your Majesty…”_ the young elf captain holding firmly to Ori’s shoulder bows deeply in her king’s presence. 

_“Ah Captain, is one of our guests ready to speak?”_ Thranduil gives a small smile, pale blue eyes piercing into Ori where she stands. 

_“Unfortunately not, your Leafy Magnificence. This one…it’s very vomit-y.”_

_“Vomit-y?”_

_“Yes. It vomits…a lot.”_

_“Oh…yes…I see now,”_ Thranduil sits back in his throne, drawing his feet up onto the seat as if Ori’s vomit particles were able to float through the air, _“Are any of the others…similarly ill?"_

_“Not that we can tell, your Majesty.”_

Thranduil sighs deeply. These dwarves are proving to be more trouble than they are worth. They are eating him out of tree and bower as it is, now this one is vomiting it all up! He should have left them in the forest to starve! Ah, but dear Legolas had cried so, saying it was all so unfair on them to die in such a way. The King really only had himself to blame, indulging Legolas’ childhood need to save the whole forest from itself was probably a mistake…you start with an injured vole or two, a lost Brown Wizard, and end up with thirteen dwarves in your cellar and a pile of vomit to clean up. 

There was probably a broader metaphor about life in general to be found there…

Thranduil is pulled from his musing by the sound of sad little sniffles. 

Oh no…

Oh _dear…_

Thranduil presses two fingers to his forehead. Crying…oh he couldn’t stomach little creatures crying. His captain is looking particularly uncomfortable as well, she fishes around in her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to the crying little dwarf. Thranduil gestures them closer, pulling his long robes up around his knees and getting down on the ground to speak to the poor wretched creature face to face. 

“Why do you weep, young Master?”

“I’m a girl you great tree lovin’ git!”

Thranduil blinks. All right, female dwarves…not a myth. File that little tidbit away for later. 

“Apologies, my lady. If I may ask again why you weep in my presence?”

Ori hiccoughs, “Well…I got vomit in my cardi and I dunno how I’m gonna get it out, I’m stuck in your b-blasted prison all day with nothing to do, I’m hungry again and…and” and at this the young girl moves from quiet tears to outright sobbing, the world seeming a frightening and cruel place to her, “And I want Doooooriiiiiiiiii!”

Thranduil springs back from the vomit encrusted dwarf as it howls for this ‘Dori.’ What in Eru Illuvatar’s good name was a ‘Dori’ anyway? Must be one of her travelling companions. 

_“Captain, get our guest’s cardigan washed, this instant, find her another serving of breakfast and for the love of all that is sacred, find this Dori and have it brought to her immediately!”_

~*~*~

“You! Wearing the hat!” 

Bofur looks up from where he’s using a fingernail to carve something rather rude into the walls of the cell he inhabits. He looks over at Dwalin, with whom he is sharing these fine lodgings, and shrugs. 

“And a fine morning to you too.”

“None of your tongue today, dwarf. Are you Dori?”

Bofur adopts a contemplative look, adding a few more lines to ‘Elven King Being Buggered by Spiders No. 3’ to pass the time. 

“You know…in a sense, we’re all Dori…on the inside.”

The guard makes a frustrated noise, rolling his eyes, “What about you?” he asks Dwalin. 

Dwalin raises an eyebrow, “Why d’ya want to know?”

“Are you Dori then?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked why ya wanted to know…or are ye as stupid as ye are ugly?”

The elf huffs, “One of your companions is distressed and is asking for a Dori…repeatedly. We are trying to find him.”

Dwalin instantly stands, walking to the bars, “Who is? Which one of us asks for Dori?”

“That is none of your concern dwar-“

“TELL ME!” Dwalin roars, his voice filling the cell and hall. The elf guard flinches and moves back a step. 

“T-he youngest of your company, a young woman I am lead to believe but I honestly don’t believe it, everyone knows your people are born from the rock itself…”

“What is wrong with her? If she’s been harmed in any way, I’ll wear your King’s guts for garters…”

The elf steels himself. He is not here to negotiate or be threatened! He gives no further information, asking again if either of the inhabitants of the cell are Dori. 

Dwalin’s hands tighten around the bars, his knuckles turning white. He thinks of Ori, all alone in this hole. Was she scared? In pain? 

“Dori’s about his height,” Dwalin nods over at Bofur, “His hair is silver and he wears it braided tightly to his head.”

This rings a bell with the elf, there’s one of them matching that description in the cell two halls down. He nods his head at Dwalin and starts to move away.

“Wait!” Dwalin calls after him, “Tell me! Is she alright?”

The elf turns back briefly, studying Dwalin carefully, “She has come to no harm from us, dwarf, nor will she.”

~*~*~

_“You see, it’s clear to me now,”_ the Elven King says, nodding to himself, _“She was clearly asking for her mother.”_

_“You are so wise in the ways of the Dwarves, Father,”_ Legolas rests his head on his hands, watching Dori practically feed Ori the second breakfast she had been served. It seemed so obvious now Father had explained it, ‘dori’ was so clearly a dwarven dialect word for mother. 

_“Can I speak to them?”_

_“Now, dearest, you know why that is not a good idea…”_

Legolas sighs, _“I might catch a beard.”_

_“Yes. Now, do not fret about our guests, my child. I will have the girl and her mother put in a cell together from now on, she will know better how to care for her child than our healers could.”_

All in all, Thranduil was very pleased with how he had dealt with that minor crisis. As long as there was no more crying he considered the day a success. 

Still…the King of the Greenwood could hardly say he was displeased when the next morning his guards ran into the throne room, telling him that the prisoners had escaped in the night. 

At least there would be no more vomit to deal with…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil: King, father, dwarf expert. 
> 
> (I cannot lay claim the joke about Legolas catching a beard, that is from the excellent art of Flatbear, check out her tumblr at flatbear.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, thanks for all the great feedback guys, the people have spoken and I'm definitely going for a happy ending with this fic. :)


	9. Chapter 9

River travel via barrel is not something Ori would ever recommend. She will make a special note of that in her records later, provided there’s anything left of her books and ink…

And once she’s finished emptying the contents of her stomach over the edge of the pier of course…

“Oh, poor love…” Dori is instantly beside her, rubbing her back as she hacks and gags, “That awful elf food’s put you all out of sorts.”

Despite this inglorious (not to mention soggy) start to the Company’s stay at Lake Town, things soon start looking up. The Master of the Town greets them and their promise to rid them of the scourge of Smaug with enthusiasm. Their city survives on trade it seems, and anything which will bring life and commerce back to both Dale and Erebor is to be welcomed. 

They are given a huge house to stay in, with a full pantry and hot baths and the most wonderful huge beds. It apparently belongs to some wealthy merchant, a close relative of the Master, who spends most of the autumn out of town on business, and would not mind at all that they make use of it. They are all invited to a banquet at the Master’s house the following night and then are mercifully left to their own devices. 

Though the larder is full, Bombur is too sore and tired to try and cook for them all, and it’s quickly decided they will eat at one of the nearby taverns tonight. Ori sits down next to Dori and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“Can I stay in? I’m not hungry, I just want to have a sleep…”

Dori makes a sympathetic noise and gives her a quick cuddle, “My poor little Ori. You do look a bit peaky. Have an early night love, I’ll bring you up some warm milk before we head off.”

He heads down to the kitchen to warm up some milk, bringing Ori a plate of biscuits as well in case she feels hungry later. He is comforted by the fact that the Master has promised to send his personal doctor to the house the next day, if Ori was still feeling poorly by tomorrow she will soon be set to rights. 

Ori gets a room to herself, of course, and from the looks of things one that belongs to a female member of the merchant’s house, a daughter perhaps. Ori opens the closet and finds it packed with dresses, blouses and skirts in every rich fabric known to man or dwarf. She sips her milk and runs her hand over them reverently; she’d almost forgotten lovely things like this could exist in the world. 

There is a vanity with a mirror as well. With the help of a sturdy hat box Ori manages to get herself into the chair in front of the vanity and has a chance to look at herself properly for the first time in months. She sighs at the sight, her hair…it’s just terrible! It was bad to begin with when Dori cut it into that awful boy’s cut, but now it’s mostly grown out, dirty and unkempt, it’s just awful! 

She starts undoing the plaits that frame her face and the ones in her beard, tries to pull a comb through it but swiftly gives up. This is going to take some serious work. She picks up the comb, a nightgown from her host’s wardrobe (they said to make full use of the offered hospitality after all…) and heads down to the women’s bathing rooms for a long, well deserved soak. 

~*~*~

Dwalin’s hadn’t been sleeping when he heard the door to his room crack open, he’d had a feeling she’d come tonight. The first night they’ve had a chance to be alone together since they entered the Mirkwood, the first night they’ve had use of a real bed, he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep away. He’s not exactly displeased with this development... 

There are soft little footsteps on the floor, he feels the sheets move beside him, and then he feels silky fabric and soft skin pressed against his side. He smiles in the darkness. 

“Bofur…?”

That gets him a giggle and a smack to the side. He rolls over and pulls her into his arms, running his hands down her back and over the nightie she’s wearing. 

“Now where did ya find this thing, lassie?”

“In the closet,” she gives a little squeal as his hands slip underneath it, pulling it up her thighs and hips. 

“Well we better get it off then in case it gets ripped…”

The nightgown ends up in a puddle of fabric on the floor and Ori gives a soft little moan as Dwalin kisses her. He pulls her under him. Even after weeks wandering the Mirkwood and trapped in those blasted elf dungeons she still feels so nice and plump; she’s such a wee thing after all, it probably doesn’t take much to keep her full, even with the awful food the elves were giving them. 

He pulls back from her a little, examining her face carefully, “You’re alright, aren't you lass? Those elves didn’t hurt ya at all?”

She snorts, “Nah, I’m alright. They’re painful but I don’t think they’re evil or nothing, not like goblins or orcs. Now come on, give us a kiss.”

And so Dwalin does, and another, and then another, until both of them have forgotten about whatever they were talking about before. Her legs wrap around his hips and she gives a soft sigh as he kisses down her chest. 

“Roll over…” she whispers. 

“Hmm?”

“I wanna be on top again…”

Dwalin chuckles, rolling onto his back and letting Ori straddle him, “You’re wicked, ya know that?”

“Oh, the wickedest!”

“Nah…i-it’s this one…certain it’s this one…” Nori’s voice floats through the door, “My dice’re in here, I’ll be two seconds…”

They both freeze. 

The door swings open, light from the hall streaming in behind Nori and Bofur who stand silhouetted in the doorway. 

Ori doesn’t move. Dwalin doesn’t move. Nori doesn’t move…apart from that twitch under his eye. Even Bofur is uncharacteristically silent, eyes flicking between all three people in the room. The silence seems to stretch for an age.

Then everything happens at once…

~*~*~

Bilbo was just settling into bed when the ruckus started. One moment he was pulling up the sheets of his bed, enjoying the lovely soft mattress in the merchant’s house and the very welcome hot water bottle at his feet, the next he was pulled out of bed by what sounded very much like an all out battle going on down the hall!

At first, Bilbo can’t tell who's fighting who, let alone why the fight is going on in the first place. Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Thorin, Bofur, Nori and Ori all seemed to be directly involved, Bombur and Bifur stand to the side watching, an air of ‘let’s see where this goes’ on their faces (though Bifur also seems to be actively cheering them on). 

Soon it becomes clear that the fight is centered around Dwalin and Nori. It takes Oin and Gloin together to rip Dwalin back off his opponent. Bofur and Thorin grab Nori and pull him back as well. Dwalin’s nose is bloody and Nori is sporting the beginnings of a black eye. 

“Get him downstairs!” Thorin roars at Oin and Gloin, holding firm to Nori, who seems very intent on continuing his dispute with Dwalin. 

“You touch her again, you come _near_ her again,” he snarls at Dwalin as the warrior is pulled down the stairs, “And I’ll gut you while you sleep, ya bastard!!”

Dwalin almost pulls himself out of Oin and Gloin’s hands at Nori’s words, Thorin snaps something at him in Kuzduhl and the huge warrior stops, letting himself be lead down the stairs. Balin quickly follows, hands tugging frantically at his beard. 

He’s barely halfway down before Ori turns on her brother. Bilbo is momentarily surprised, he knew Ori was a woman, it was no secret now, but he’d never seen her look so much like one, her hair out of its plaits, wearing a night gown (one which was perhaps just a touch too small, he thinks to himself). It was like being reminded of something you already knew but had forgotten…

“How could ya?” she cries, angry tears in her eyes. She slaps at Nori as she speaks, “How could ya?”

“I’m doing it for your own good Ori! He’s takin advantage of you!”

Ori groans in frustration, wiping tears off her face, “You’re an idiot! You still think I’m a child, after everything we’ve been through! I can’t deal with you right now!”

Ori storms back into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The tension in the hall starts to dissipate. Bilbo lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding on to. Thorin and Bofur both let go of Nori’s arms. 

“And I’ll have you know,” Ori shoves her head out the door, “I was takin’ advantage of HIM!”

The door slams shut again. Nobody speaks for a moment. Thorin rubs at his temples with his fingers, suddenly looking very tired. Bilbo decides to head downstairs for a while, Balin can usually be relied upon for information when something strange and dwarf-y is going on, and he has to admit his curiosity has been piqued. Besides, things don’t exactly look friendly up here…

Bilbo finds Dwalin, Balin, Oin and Gloin in the main parlour. Dwalin is seated on a footstool, his head tipped back, Oin gruffly telling him to hold a thick washcloth to his still bleeding nose. Balin is sitting up on one of the couches, head resting on one hand. Gloin stokes the fire to warm the room. 

“Hold still…argh, it’s still drippin’ everywhere…I’m going downstairs to see if there’s something cold to put on it. Hold this tight,” Oin shakes his head in frustration, firmly shoving Dwalin’s head back when he tries to move again, “And don’t bloody move!”

“I told you this would all end in tears, didn’t I?” Oin directs this at Balin, leaving before Balin has a chance to reply. 

Balin watches Oin go then sighs deeply, “Well…you never were one much for self restraint were you brother…or discretion for that matter.”

Dwalin doesn’t say anything back, looking askance at his brother briefly before going back to concentrating on his washcloth. 

“I’m sorry…” Bilbo whispers, sliding over to Balin, “But what exactly is going on?”

Balin just gives a tired smile, not answering, or at least not getting the chance to. Dori has arrived home from the tavern, Fili and Kili not far behind, and the wailing and gnashing of teeth upstairs starts anew. 

There is now an argument between Dori and Nori, and whose fault this whole thing is; Nori for being the bad influence or Dori for wanting to bring Ori on the Quest in the first place. Bilbo is no closer to finding out what’s going on though…

“Hey, Bilbo,” Bofur appears in the doorway, “You up for a snack? I don’t think anyone’s getting any sleep soon…”

Well, Bilbo can’t say no to that, can he? 

Bombur is already in the kitchen, cutting thick hunks of bread, slathering them in butter and then layering slices of corned beef on top. 

“Ahh, be a mate Bom, make us one too…”

Bombur grunts and slides one of the sandwiches over to his brother, “What’s the latest then?”

“Dori and Nori are going at it now, Miss Ori’s locked herself in her room and won’t speak to anyone and Thorin’s about to pop a blood vessel. Apart from that it’s about normal really…”

Bombur gives a long yawn, “All I wanted was nice long sleep…”

“Can one of you please tell me what’s going on?” Bilbo says, quite firmly now, watching as Oin walks up from the cold storeroom with a bag of ice in one hand and a piece of steak in the other (presumably for Nori’s eye). 

There is a twinkle in Bofur’s eye as he bites into his bread, “Ah I’m sorry Bilbo. Miss Ori and Dwalin were caught in a quite compromising position tonight by Nori and myself.”

Bilbo leans in conspiratorially, “Doing what?”

Bofur and Bombur share a look, as if they’re dealing with a particularly slow child, “Well…having sex, Bilbo. Either that or really need to re-read the rules of croquet. You know what though, after tonight, I’ve seen four times the number of bosoms than I expected to see on this Quest…”

Bilbo blinks, digesting this rather shocking information, “But…they’re not even married!”

“Oh yes, it’s a miracle really,” Bombur gives Bilbo a deadpan look as he butters more bread, “I don’t know how they worked it out, they didn’t even have the secret maps to each other’s privates which are traditionally handed over on the wedding night. How did they manage it at all?”

Bilbo sniffs, “Oh bother to you. Excuse me my hobbit sensibilities, this may be commonplace amongst dwarves but it certainly is not among my people.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, thinking some more, “Dwalin and Miss Ori eh? But…she’s tiny, for a dwarf I mean, she’s about my size…and he’s huge…”

Bofur and Bombur both snicker childishly at that, Bilbo rolls his eyes, “Oh you know what I mean.”

Bofur shrugs, “Eh, she’s about average size for a Longbeard girl. They tend to be on the small side.”

“Is there much of a difference then between Longbeard girls and Broadbeam ones?” Bilbo asks. He’s been picking up bits here and there about the differences between the dwarf clans, offhand comments from other members of the Company mostly, and was very interested in knowing more. 

“Apart from size…not much I don’t really think…” Bofur scratches at his chin, “Longbeards are a bit funny about ‘em, that’s the main thing you need to know…”

“Funny how?”

“They’re precious little gems which need protectin’ from the horrors of the world,” Bombur puts a hand to his forhead and affects a swoon, Bofur laughing, “Now, if her brothers had any sense, they’d stop all this nonsense and get her and Mister Dwalin married right quick...before she starts showin’ at any rate.”

“You think she’s pregnant already?” Bofur raises an eyebrow, “That’s awful quick if you ask me…”

“How else do you think she's managed to gain weight while the rest of us are putting extra holes in our belts? There’s going to be a new addition to the House of Fundin by the end of the year or I wear size extra small pants, you mark my words.”

Bilbo stands up, walking to the entrance of the kitchen, “Hey…hey!” he waves at Bofur and Bombur, “Do you hear that?”

Bofur sits silently for a moment, “No…I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! It’s quiet…I think they might have stopped…”

Bilbo, Bofur and Bombur creep out of the kitchen, into the eerily quiet main floor of the house. The lamps have all been turned out, the low fire in the parlour the only source of light. 

“Maybe they all killed each other…” 

“Don’t be silly Bom…there’d be more blood for one thing…”

Bilbo picks up a lamp and lights it, leading the three of them upstairs. All three of them pause, Bombur tutting at the sight of Nori, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping in front of Ori’s door, one of his curved knives clutched tight to his chest. 

“Come on,” Bofur gave Bilbo a gentle push towards the hobbit’s bedroom, “I’ve got a feelin’ we’re going to need a proper night’s sleep before tomorrow…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear and Loathing in Lake Town...


	10. Chapter 10

Breakfast the next morning starts as an awkward affair…and that’s putting it mildly. Bilbo almost feels a little envious of Miss Ori, who is still locked in her bedroom, refusing to come out. 

Instead of everyone eating together as they did on the road, the Company had split into little groups, or as Bilbo had started referring to them in his mind… _alliances_. 

Balin and Dwalin sat together in the Parlour, Oin and Gloin sitting with them in solidarity (they were first cousins after all) though Oin still seemed to be less than pleased with Balin. They ate silently, Dwalin only pushing his food around his plate. 

Nori and Dori had laid claim to the drawing room across the hall, a room which granted them a clear view of the stairs so they could keep an eagle eye on anyone going up or down (one person in particular being watched for…). 

Thorin sat with Kili by his side in the breakfast nook, Kili very silently eating his eggs, not daring to say anything with his uncle in such a foul mood. Fili was noticeably absent, he and Thorin were not on the best of terms this morning. Fili had been far too happy when Thorin had told him the marriage between him and Ori was off. 

“I wasn’t aware it was on in the first place,” Fili had said.

“Get out of my sight, appalling boy!” Thorin had replied and Fili had stomped off to have breakfast in the kitchen. Kili looked particularly hurt by this development. 

As the atmosphere upstairs is ‘as frosty as a warg’s tit’ (as Bofur would have said), Bilbo heads downstairs to the kitchen to eat, where the air is warm, the smells of Bombur’s cooking fill the air and the company is much more jovial. 

Bombur flips a pancake off his frypan, right through the air and onto Bifur’s plate, Fili and Bofur cheering from their places at the table. The cook spots Bilbo as soon as he comes in and waves him over to the stove. 

“Ah, our Company Burglar, I was hoping you were up,” Bombur holds out a plate piled high with pancakes and dripping with syrup to the hobbit, “See if you can sneak this up the stairs to Miss Ori, would ya? I think Nori and Dori are trying to starve the poor lass out.”

Bilbo tuts, annoyed at having his first breakfast of the day delayed, but goes anyway. If Miss Ori is pregnant as Bombur had speculated last night (and Bilbo couldn’t argue with his logic, how could someone wander through the Mirkwood for almost a month with barely anything to eat and _gain_ weight) then Ori would need to be regularly fed. Bilbo isn’t sure how things work with dwarves, but hobbit lasses in the family way ate almost constantly, going up from the standard 7 meals a day to at least 10!

Bilbo takes the plate of pancakes out of the kitchen, slipping into an alcove to put on his ring on then sneaking past Dori and Nori and up the stairs to Ori’s room. He looks over his shoulder a few times before taking off the ring and knocking. 

“Bugger off Dori!”

“Ah…it’s not Dori, Miss Ori…it’s me, Mister Bilbo…I’ve bought you breakfast.”

The door opens a crack and Ori peeps out, checking to make sure it isn’t some sort of trap. The only thing outside the door is Bilbo and his plate of pancakes and oh, they do smell nice. She isn’t feeling sick this morning at all, only ravenously hungry. 

“Oh well…you better come in then.”

Bilbo makes a few spluttering noises of protest but is quickly pulled into the room, Ori grabbing the pancakes from his hands and settling herself back into bed to eat. She’s still wearing the night gown Bilbo saw last night but has put her cardigan on over the top, she looks small in it and quite alone and it is then that Bilbo’s Bagginsish side, which has for many months lain quiet, happy to let the Took side have the reins, awakens in full force. The need for things to be cosy, to be well fed and warm and to have others around him similarly comfortable, came back to the fore of Bilbo’s mind. 

“So, what’s going on down there? Is Dwalin all right?” she says between large mouthfuls.

“Well, there haven’t been anymore fist fights, if that’s what you mean. Everyone’s just sort of…avoiding each other.”

Ori grimaces, she pushes her pancakes around her plate, “We were gonna tell ‘em you know, after we got to the Mountain. I didn’t want there to be all this trouble…”

Bilbo tuts, he comes over to the bed and pulls the sheets up over Ori’s legs, tucking her in, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. These things have a way of working themselves out. I remember when Hamfast Bracegirdle ran off with Snowdrop Proudfoot…you should have _heard_ the wailing from both families involved, the Proudfeet almost declared war, it was a complete hunka munka of an affair, you mark my words,” and with that Bilbo gives one of his little chortles, “But a month later, once everyone had had a while to breathe, you wouldn’t be able to find two families closer than those two.”

Ori gives Bilbo a small smile as he plumps her pillows behind her head, “Why couldn’t a Proudfoot marry a Bracegirdle?”

“Oh Miss Ori, if I explained all of that mess I’d be here until the end of the Age, but I will say the whole thing started with a _supposedly_ stolen recipe for strawberry shortcake. Now, you finish those pancakes all up and I’ll be up soon with second breakfast.”

“Second breakfast?”

“Absolutely! You’ve had your sweet breakfast, now you have your savoury. Mister Bombur’s got some lovely streaky bacon down in the kitchen,” he says enticingly, “that and some fried tomato, mushroom, a few slices of fried bread…eggs of course are essential, how do you like your eggs, Miss Ori?”

“Uh…soft boiled…”

“With toast soldiers for dipping?”

“That does sound nice…”

“There we go! That and a few cups of tea and things will seem much brighter, you mark my words.”

Bilbo stays a little while longer, stoking the small fire in the grate and checking the windows are closed (it’s a cool morning and it wouldn’t do for Ori to catch a chill, not at all!) then slips out the door and heads back down to the kitchen. 

“Ah, how did she like the pancakes? I kept some warm for you too…” Bombur hands Bilbo his own plate.

“Many thanks, Mister Bombur. Now, for Miss Ori’s second breakfast she’ll be having some of that bacon there, tomatoes, mushroom…are those sausages? Throw some of those on too. Some fried bread, two slices I think, and then two slices of plain toast with butter, cut into soldiers. She’d like soft boiled eggs…do you think two to start or three?”

Bombur’s eyes narrow in thought, “We have had a hard month, and she is a skinny little thing…I’d say three myself.”

“Agreed. Make that three slices of toast for dipping then as well.”

“Will do.”

Bilbo takes a seat at the kitchen table, where Bofur, Bifur and Fili are already well into the savouries. 

“You might not have to make another run Bilbo,” Fili dunks a piece of toast into his tea, “Dori’s weakening, he was down here fussing about her seeing the doctor before.”

“I don’t know what those two are trying to achieve,” Bilbo shakes his head, “If they think she’s going to end things with Dwalin then I think they’re going to be very disappointed.”

Bilbo settles in to eat, surprised at how well he feels, the best he's felt in some weeks, light and happy…almost bubbly. 

It was exciting after all…having a baby on the way…

~*~*~

The Doctor comes as promised by the Master not long after lunch and Dori is quick to intercept him at the door, insisting that he see to his younger sister as soon as possible, if you please, as she had been having stomach troubles since their time in the captivity of the Elfin King. The rest of the Company only really suffering from fatigue, bruises, aches and pains (though there was one impressively swollen nose to be found on a Mister Dwalin), the Doctor is happy to see to her first and is lead upstairs to a very pink and frilly room. 

Within the first five minutes of speaking to the young dwarrowdam who sits bundled on the left side of the bed, the Doctor has a very clear picture in his mind of the young lady’s condition…

“I’m pregnant!” Ori blinks, pulling the covers up, “But…but I can't be! It takes years! We’ve only been…well, only a few times! Less than ten, definitely! We’re travelling anyway!”

Ori had read many books on conception (it is the only way she was able to educate herself on such matters, Dori certainly has never been forthcoming on the subject), all say the same thing. The Dwarves are not a fertile people, not like the humans and Halflings who seem to breed like rabbits, it takes decades for a couple to conceive one child, many are never blessed, and it is almost universally agreed among the authors of such texts that it is very rare for a pregnancy to occur when a dwarrowdam is not secure, not living safely under the Earth (as she should) and protected from the horrors of life above ground. 

So she cannot be pregnant! She simply can’t be! And it is this she tells the Doctor, quite firmly. 

The Doctor gives a kindly smile, “It _can_ take many years amongst your people, some though, are just lucky.”

Ori doesn’t feel very lucky…

“I gather this is perhaps not…expected. Which one of the Company is your husband?”

She looks down, twisting the sheets between her hands, “I don’t have a husband…”

“Ah…” the Doctor is silent for a while, “Who is the father?”

“His name is Dwalin.”

“Oh yes, we’ve met. I had a look at his nose,” the Doctor chuckles, “Fighting someone for you affections was he, ah ha haaa…”

The Doctor’s attempt at humor falls decidedly flat. The girl keeps looking down at her hands, her face a mask of quiet despair. 

“Do you think he won’t welcome the news?”

Ori shrugs, “I dunno. My Da left when Mam got pregnant with me. Too many mouths to feed…”

She drifts off. The doctor shifts in his seat. Poor child. 

“I don’t have to tell your brothers, or the leader of your Company, if you do not wish it, Miss.”

Ori sighs, “No, i-it’d be better if you told them. I’m not sure I can…”

“If it’s what you want. I have a sister, she’s a midwife of some skill, I will arrange for her to call tomorrow when she can, she can help you prepare for what is to come.”

“Thank you Doctor. Can you…give me a little while, to get ready.”

The man tries to give the girl a reassuring smile, patting her on the knee, “Of course. Now, don’t you worry, my girl. Things are never as bad as they first seem. 

Ori gives a long sniffle, wiping the back of her hand under her eye, “You don’t know my brothers.”

~*~*~

Dori knew, he just _knew_ , there was something horribly wrong when the Doctor asked to speak to him and Nori privately. Ori was ill! Terribly ill! Possibly dying! Oh, it was those horrible elves probably, they’d poisoned her in that cell! He’d known it all along. It explained everything really, even her dalliance with that monster Dwalin, elf food had probably made her all… _twitchy_. 

At least soon things would be all set to rights. The Doctor would know what the poison was, he would prescribe the antidote and Ori would be her sweet self again. 

Oh, his dear little Ori. He and Nori had had their ups and downs with each other, they didn’t share a father and Nori leaving for months at a time didn’t help this, but Dori had adored Ori from the moment she was born. He’d fed her and bathed her when she was a babe and their Mam was too tired, told her the stories of their people, taught her the songs, worked until his whole body ached and he could barely keep his eyes open at the table to be able to afford her tutors and the books and pens she needed to nourish her gifts. 

And when Mam had died (Nori had cleared out for the first time not long after) he’d wiped her tears and brushed her hair, sewed her clothes for her, accompanied her down to the markets when men and dwarves’ eyes started to follow her as she walked. He had searched long and hard to find her a good Master Scrivener and had been there when her Master had told her that her apprenticeship was over, that she was a fully sledged scribe, and he had never been prouder than at that moment. 

He loved his little sister, more than he loved any other, so it was with some trepidation that he sat down with the Master’s Doctor and watched as the older man seemed to struggle with his words. 

“Well…I can tell you first and foremost, that your sister is not ill, Master Dwarves.”

Dori smiles widely, sharing a look with Nori, “That is a relief. Has the poison passed already, or was it something she ate?”

“She was not poisoned…” the Doctor shifts where he sits, “she is…well…oh, I must just say it, your sister is pregnant!”

For a moment, there is silence in the room. Dori blinks and gives a small, polite smile, as if he has misheard. 

“Pardon me, Doctor?” he leans forward in his seat. 

“Miss Ori is pregnant! She is going to have a baby.”

At this Dori chuckles, “Oh Doctor, no. No she isn’t.” He looks over at Nori and they both share a small laugh at the sheer absurdity of such a statement. Ori wasn’t pregnant! For that she’d have to be married! Or at least be…

Oh…

_Oh._

The Doctor watches as several unidentifiable emotions pass over the older dwarf’s face in the space of less than a second, then watches it settle into something impassive, bordering on amiable. 

Dori takes a sip of his tea, gives a little ‘mmm’ of satisfaction. He puts the cup down carefully on the side table and stands, straightening his shirt. 

“If you’ll just excuse me for a moment…” he says, voice deadly calm. 

Nori and the Doctor watch as Dori calmly walks out of the room, then look back at each other. For a few minutes, there is no sound from the room outside the Parlour. The Doctor thinks that perhaps Dori has left to clear his head. 

Then there is an almost animal like roar and the sound of crashing furniture from the next room. The Doctor and Nori both rush into the hall. 

“YOU ELF FUCKING BASTARD!” 

Dori has Dwalin on the floor, hands around his neck. They roll around, Dwalin desperately trying to dislodge Dori’s hands from his throat, knocking over delicate tables and foot stools. He isn’t getting far, of all the Company Dori is the only one who bests him in pure brute strength, though he isn’t a fighter by nature or by trade. Dwalin uses this to his advantage, throwing Dori off balance with a kick of his legs and shoving him back. 

Dori makes a second lunge for Dwalin when Thorin and Balin run in, the rest of the Company not far behind, drawn by the ruckus. They pull them apart, Bombur and Bifur pulling Dori away from Dwalin. 

“What is going on here?” Thorin barks, standing between the two dwarves. He looks to Dwalin first, watching him stand and lean with one hand against the wall, panting, then to Dori whose hair is askew. 

“She’s pregnant!” Dori roars, “Ori’s pregnant and it’s his! It has to be! He’s _violated_ her!”

Thorin gives a sharp intake of breath and rounds on Dwalin, “Is this true?”

Dwalin isn’t looking at Thorin, he looks straight at Dori, “She’s…she’s pregnant?”

Then everything descends into yelling again, every member of the Company either trying to fight or trying to calm someone down (The Doctor thinks this is an excellent moment for him to take his leave and he slips quietly out of the front door, barely noticed). 

The fight continues even as Bilbo comes down the stairs, yelling to try and get everyone’s attention. He waves his hands and stomps his feet, to little effect. Eventually he grabs a nearby vase (one of the cheaper looking ones…he hopes) and smashes it onto the floor. 

That does the trick. Every eye in the hall swivels to him. Bilbo takes a breath before speaking. 

“Ori’s gone!”

“What?” Thorin let’s go of Dori’s arms where they had been reaching again for Dwalin’s neck. 

“She’s gone! I went up to check on her and her room was empty! Her clothes and pack are gone and her window’s wide open!”

“You’re certain? You’ve checked the rest of the house?”

“Yes, everywhere…She’s run away!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun!


	11. Chapter 11

Dwalin is outside before the Halfling even finishes his words. He has to move fast, he has to find her! She’s young and small and all alone in a city of strangers! She’s carrying _his child_ , for the love of Mahal! 

The quickest way around Lake Town is by the rowers and their little boats. Dwalin grabs the nearest one by the throat and pulls him over from where he’s gossiping with another rower. 

“Have ya seen anyone leave the house?”

“Hey! What d’ya think yer doin?” the other asks, the one Dwalin holds being a little short of breath. Dwalin loosens his grip slightly. 

The rower gasps like a fish thrown up on a dock, “Doctor Flosi…he left a moment ago.”

“Anyone else? A dwarf, a young lad wearing purple?”

The other rower answers this time, “Oh aye, he left a while ago. Came from ‘round the back of the house and hopped right into Nef’s boat.”

“Where did they go?”

“Well, ye’d have ta ask Nef that, wouldn’t ya.”

Dwalin growls, “Can ya take me to him? I- we need to find that lad. He’s a member of our Company.”

“I’m not gonna do it out of the kindness of me heart…”

“Coin isn’t a concern. Just take me now!”

The rower nods and Dwalin jumps into his boat. There is a shout from the front of the door and Dwalin sees Thorin running after him then leaping from the dock and into the boat as it pulls away, making it rock dangerously and causing the rower to curse all the dwarven peoples quite loudly. 

“What do ye think you’re doing?” Dwalin snaps at him. 

“Trying to fix this mess,” Thorin barks back, “Where is this boat taking us?”

“To the rower who picked Ori up outside the house.”

Thorin gives a curt nod and sits down in the boat, “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

They are silent for some time. Dwalin cannot sit still, he shifts in his seat, taps at the bow, snaps at the rower to go faster.

“Hey! It’s called a speed limit, and no matter how much of a hurry you’re in, I’ve gotta keep to it!”

Dwalin growls and turns his attention back to Thorin, “What are the others doin’?”

“Balin and Oin are on their way to the Master’s house. Hopefully they will be able to convince him to have the city guard look for her as well. Bilbo is staying in place in case she comes back-“

“Oh, it’s ‘Bilbo’ now is it?”

Thorin narrows his eyes, then looks out over the water, “You’re hardly one to talk right now.” He returns to the previous topic of conversation, “Everyone else is out looking.”

“Good.”

Silence falls again. Dwalin audibly growls as they pass rower after rower going along the riverways. Occasionally their rower will shout out to one of the others, asking if they’ve seen Nef, changing or continuing on their course depending on the answer. They are still going far too slowly!

“I will never forgive you for ruining my nephew’s wedding, you know,” Thorin says suddenly. 

Dwalin turns, looking at Thorin and seeing something which could almost be described as a smile on his face. He’s trying to lighten the mood. Dwalin snorts and shakes his head. 

“I didn’t ruin anything. If ye couldn’t see they weren’t interested in each other then you’re blind _and_ a fool,” he says, but there is no malice in his voice. 

Thorin gives a short grunt of amusement and goes back to looking out over the water. Things are right between them now. They just are. This is how they have always done things between themselves. 

They find Nef coming out of a waterside tavern, apparently finished with his shift. Dwalin leaps from the boat and soon has him in a headlock, despite Nef’s height, demanding to know where he had let Ori off. 

“Auugh, get off me ya bastard!”

Dwalin loosens his grip, but only slightly, enough to let the rower speak a little more freely.

“I dropped her off at the Market Square…now let go!”

Dwalin does so, striding back to their rower and demanding to be taken straight to the Market Square. They start off immediately (after Thorin ensures the rower they have to coin to pay for such a trip) though they still seem to go far too slowly for either dwarf’s liking. 

They reach the Market and Dwalin and Thorin leave the boat behind, Thorin flicking a solid gold coin to the rower for his troubles. They rush about the market, no plan or direction to their searching, asking the humans who are packing up their stalls and wares from a day of selling if they have seen a young dwarf lad wearing purple. They receive little help, until Thorin comes across an old woman, who tells him a young dwarf with coppery hair bought one of her last apples then headed into the park nearby. 

Thorin yells for Dwalin and they head into the park. People mill about in there, it’s a popular spot in the evening for walking, many young lovers meeting and circling the park together away from their parent’s eyes. The dwarves wander for some time, looking for a smaller figure among so many large ones… 

And then there she is. 

The crowd in the park parts and there Ori is, sitting at a stone table in front of a small tavern on the edge of the park, a plate of chips beside her, as if she is just another young person having an early dinner after a long day. Dwalin’s whole body relaxes. He has found her. 

…And yet he hesitates. What does he say to her? What if she ran to get away from him? 

Thorin gives him a nudge to the shoulder, “Well…go on. She won’t come back just from you staring at her.”

Dwalin takes a deep breath and walks over to the table. Ori starts and looks up when he takes the seat opposite her. Now he’s closer he can see her eyes are red rimmed and her hair is a mess. 

They stare at each other for a while, not saying anything. Dwalin doesn’t know where to start. He has so many questions, many things he wants to say, but he wants to give her a chance to say her piece. 

She slides the chips over the table towards him. He takes one but doesn’t eat. 

When she does finally speak she doesn’t meet his eyes, “I…I didn’t want to force you to be with me.”

“Is that why you took off?”

She nods. “I figured…I knew you’d want to do the honourable thing and I didn’t want that. I don’t want someone tied to me against their will…”

“Oh lass…” Dwalin rubs a hand over his face.

“Cause it never ends well, you know. Things start out alright, you think you’ll make it work, but soon you start resenting each other, then someone starts thinking about leavin’…”

“Ori!” He stops her, speaking a little more sharply than he intended. She looks up at him, tears starting to build in her eyes again and he covers one of her small hands with his own, “What makes ye think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

She blinks and then looks down, gives a shrug of her shoulders. 

“I…I…” Dwalin looks around, there are so many humans around. He is one of a race of people who feel strongly that some things are meant to be said in private, without so many ears to hear. So he switches to Kuzduhl, leaning over the table, holding tight to her hand and whispering the words he knows so well, the ones of love and devotion, of promises, snatches from poetry and love songs, of which their people have many (though quite a few are about gold). 

Her eyes open wide at his words. After he has said his part there is a gap of silence, and for a moment he fears she may not return his feelings, but then she speaks, slowly, hesitating over some words, not quite the right emphasis on others (he realizes with a fondness that Kuzduhl is more an academic language for her, not one she has had much chance to speak aloud), giving his words the responses the songs call for. Promises are made and offers accepted and Dwalin feels all of a sudden like the world is very small, consisting only of him and Ori and the table they sit at. 

When she’s done he keeps a hold of her hand, brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He feels the slight shake in her hand and asks what else troubles her.

She wipes under her eyes, “I’m scared…”

“What of, love?”

She looks down at her stomach holds her hands out in a defeated gesture, “I d-don’t know how to look after a-a baby. I don’t even know how to _have_ one! I don’t have a midwife, we don’t have a home! I don’t have any baby clothes or a crib or…toys…or, or…anything a baby needs! I don’t even _know_ what a baby needs! Not to mention we’re in the middle of a bloody quest to kill a dragon of all things!”

“Hey, hey…” Dwalin stands and moves to the other side of the table, sitting beside her and putting an arm over shoulder as she cries, “We’ll work it out. It’s not as if it’s gonna be here tomorrow. And you won’t be doin’ any of it alone.”

She gives a hiccough and relaxes against his side, “Do you promise?”

“On my oath, lass.”

~*~*~

Bilbo tries to keep busy. That was what you do when you’re worried or fretting, you keep yourself occupied and wait for things to work out, that’s what his Father always said. 

And so Bilbo does, doing all the things which have always made time pass quickly for him. First he tidies up the mess made by the fight in the main hall (he does feel terrible about that vase he broke, he really does). Then he tidies up the bedrooms, nothing major, but he does make the beds, pick up the clothes the dwarves have left thrown about the rooms and makes sure there’s plenty of wood by the little fires in each room. 

After that Bilbo comes down into the main hall again and looks at the door, as if it staring at it long enough would bring Ori back through sheer force of his will. That, of course, doesn’t work and Bilbo decides to move down to the kitchen, where at least there are dirty dishes to keep him busy. The house feels so very big and empty without anyone else to occupy it, a smaller space like the kitchen feels a little more comfortable. 

He does the dishes and then takes a walk through the pantry, noting the abundance of all sorts of ingredients. There is some lovely strawberry jam, and jars full of cream which had been delivered that morning. Without even thinking, Bilbo starts picking up flour, sugar, vanilla, all the fixings of a simple tea sponge. 

By the time Balin and Oin return from speaking to the Master and giving him and the captain of the city guard Ori’s description, the smell of baking has filled the house. They both head downstairs and find Bilbo putting the finishing touches on a very fancy tea cake, covered in lashings of whipped cream and filled with jam. 

Balin makes a move for the cake only to find his hand quickly met by the back of Bilbo’s wooden spoon. 

“Ah! That’s not for you, not yet anyway,” Bilbo goes back to smoothing the cream, “This for when we find Ori. When she comes back we’ll all have something nice to celebrate with. Have you heard anything?”

“Nay laddie, I’m afraid not. The guard’s out lookin’ for her now as well though, so hopefully she’ll soon be found.”

“Oh, I do hope so. It’s getting dark now, and it’s cold at night here, the wind blows right over the water…”

“Aye…” Balin says, sitting down at the kitchen table with a deep sigh. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this. He’d had Dwalin and Ori’s wedding half planned in his head already, it was going to be huge, a wonderful, hope filled start to life in Erebor, but oh no, certain people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves (or other body parts for that matter). Not that he entirely blamed Dwalin (though to be sure, Dwalin took most of the blame in his mind), that girl certainly knew how to go for what she wanted. 

It had _always_ been the little ones with the strong personalities with Dwalin…

But in any case, the best Balin could hope for now was a quick pick-axe wedding while they were on the road. Mahal, Ori’d probably end up wearing that grotty old cardigan of hers, no fine fabrics, no jewels in her hair, not even a dress probably! Hardly an auspicious start to things by any means. 

But then Balin’s mind turned to the reason for the wedding and he couldn’t fight the smile which tugged at his lips. _A baby_. His brother and Ori were going to have a baby! He thought he’d have to wait decades for the first child to come…to think, in a little less than a year he’d have a niece or nephew to play with, to tell the stories of their people to, to sing to. 

Perhaps they will have Erebor by the time the child is born. Perhaps the babe will grow up never knowing wandering from place to place or hunger. Balin can only hope and dream…

Then there is the sound of the front door opening and Oin leaves to go see who it is, returning with Bifur and Bofur in tow. Bilbo looks up hopefully from where he’s pulling another cake and a tray of biscuits out of the oven, but his face falls as he sees Ori is not with them. 

“Any news?” the hobbit says, wringing his hands.

Bofur shakes his head, “We just popped back to grab our coats, it’s starting to get dark out.”

Bilbo makes a sad little noise and starts dividing some of the still hot biscuits into two clean tea towels then bundling them up, “Here, take some of these…got to keep your strength up.”

“Much appreciated, friend.”

Suddenly, there is a yell from Bifur upstairs, a happy yell, and everyone rushes up from the kitchen to the hall. Bilbo almost feels like shouting for joy himself when he sees Thorin and Dwalin standing in the hallway, Ori tucked under Dwalin’s arm. 

Thorin sends Bofur and Bifur off to inform the guard and find the rest of the company and tell them to stop the search (they are wearing their costs already, after all). Bilbo frets then, Dori and Nori will be back soon, and who knows what will happen then. He says as much to Ori who just a gives a tired shrug. 

“Well, they’re going to have to come back sometime,” she says, taking off her overcoat, “we’re married now. They’ll just have to deal with it.”

And then there are more shouts of joy and congratulations all round, Oin clapping Dwalin on the back. Balin though gives Thorin an exasperated look. He couldn’t even _attend_ his brother’s wedding, could he? Not with Mister Thorin Suddenly-In-Favour-of-This-Whole-Thing Oakenshield marrying people without even a ‘by your leave’. Oh, bah to the lot of them! 

But then Ori smiles up at his younger brother, and Dwalin leans his forehead down to rest against hers. They both look so stupidly happy and Balin thinks again of the child that will come. 

Perhaps it isn’t so bad after all…they could always have a second wedding, once Erebor was theirs again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Bagginshield hint in this one.


	12. Chapter 12

“YOU’RE WHAT?”

“You heard me,” Ori stands taller, putting her hands on her hips, “Dwalin and I are married.”

“WHO DID THIS?” Dori demands, looking around the Parlour. There was really only one person who could have performed this horrific act (possibly two, Balin had performed marriages back in their days in Erebor, hadn’t he?), and Dori quickly finds Thorin, who at the time was being very un-Kingly and trying to hide behind Bombur. 

“You approve of this do you?” Dori snaps, advancing on Thorin, “You do know she’s only 78?”

“Which makes her past the age of majority and well within her rights to consent to a marriage, Mister Dori,” Balin answers for Thorin, folding his arms. This nonsense has gone on long enough! It was about time Dori and Nori came to terms with the fact that Ori was an adult and could make her own decisions. 

“Exactly!” Ori says, standing firm, “And it doesn’t matter who did it! It’s what I wanted. I wanted to marry Dwalin. We’re in love!”

“In love! _In love!?_ I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life!”

Bombur heaves a deep sigh as the fight starts in earnest, Dori, Nori and Ori all yelling over each other. He, like Balin, is getting awfully tired of all this Longbeard sillyness. He stands and gives an anxious looking Bilbo a quick tap on the shoulder he passes, heading for the kitchen. 

“Come along, Mister Bilbo, it’s about time dinner was getting on, don’t you think?”

Bilbo readily follows Bombur down into the kitchen, where the cook stokes the fires under the oven and disappears into the pantry, coming back with a large side of lamb which will do quite nicely for dinner. Bilbo automatically goes to the large baskets containing the root vegetables, filling a bowl with potatoes to start peeling. 

Muffled yelling noises continue to drift down to the kitchen from upstairs. Bilbo clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“You think they’d be happy now,” he says, peeling away, “Dwalin has done the right thing after all…”

Bombur shrugs as he chops some garlic into thin strips, “Oh I don’t know Mister Bilbo, there’s any number of things it could be, you remember what I said about Longbeards being a bit funny about their lasses. Maybe they think she’s leavin’ them, maybe they’re worried Mister Dwalin will just have her pregnant and birthin’ for the rest of her life, which I’ll admit is a fairly legitimate concern…maybe it’s just Mister Dwalin personally they have an issue with, who knows. Whatever it is, they need to realize she’s an adult, and if she wants to spend the rest of her life with Mister Dwalin then that’s her decision, isn’t it?”

Bilbo makes a noise of agreement, moving from peeling potatoes to chopping them. 

Bombur makes a solid attempt at a wedding feast, and really he’s quite happy with the results, especially considering how little time he had to prepare it. There’s lamb, a chicken and a duck, potatoes roasted in the duck’s fat, pumpkin, carrot, some lovely new season parsnips, beans, a potato bake which Bilbo threw together, some lovely little dough ‘puddings’ which Bilbo tells Bombur are very popular in the Shire for soaking up extra gravy, and when it comes to gravy, well, there are three kinds, one for each type of meat!

Dessert would be a little lighter. Bombur would have loved to have had time to make both a bride’s and a groom’s cake, it’s been years since he’s had the opportunity, but considering the speed of the wedding, Bilbo’s sponge would have to take the place of both. That, some strawberries and cream, and a quick bread pudding he threw together from the end of the day’s bread would just have to do.

All in all, Bombur felt quite proud of himself as he tucked in, taking a long mouthful of their anonymous host’s ale (strong apple taste, some pear undertones and a delightful woody aftertaste). He couldn’t help but note though, that the meal would be much improved if half of the company went back to being on speaking terms with the other half!

This is a joyous occasion! Not only is there a new union between two members of their company but a child is on the way! They should be dancing on the tables for joy, not sitting around sullenly and announcing they aren’t speaking to each other! 

Speaking of which…

“Mister Bofur, if you would be so kind as to ask Mister Thorin to pass me the salt, if he isn’t too busy marrying it to the gravy when no-one is looking…”

Bofur, seated between Thorin and Dori (Bombur finds himself thinking that this was perhaps not the best seating arrangement, considering the circumstances), barely has his mouth open before Thorin is speaking. 

“Mister Bofur, perhaps you could advise Mister Dori that the salt seems very happy where it is with the gravy, and that, in keeping the salt and gravy together, I am only giving in to their very obvious wishes.” 

Dori scowls, his hands tightening around his knife and fork, “Mister Bofur, it would be much appreciated if you could convey to _his Highness_ that the salt is very young and isn’t anywhere ready to be making decisions like that…”

“The salt seemed old enough to me…” Thorin takes a sip from his ale, Bombur is certain he sees a smile behind it. 

Dori growls now, speaking through clenched teeth, “Be that as it may, the pepper and the orange sauce barely _know_ the gravy. The gravy hasn’t once sought their permission to even court the salt, let alone all this…this…” Dori waves his hands about, looking for right words.

“Condiment mixing?” Bilbo offers, helpfully. 

“Yes! This condiment mixing which has been going on! The gravy has been quite happy to lead the salt astray so far, and as we are both aware, Mister Thorin, the gravy has had several failed courtships...”

There is a murmur around the table at that. Ori puts her hand on top of Dwalin’s, the large warrior looking pointedly above everyone’s heads at some fixed point on the wall. Bilbo looks around, this is one of those dwarf-y things which will require explanation later. 

Thorin slams his fist down on the table, face suddenly dark, “I HAVE KNOWN GRAVY ALL MY LIFE! It is a fine condiment and I will not have its honour besmirched at this table!”

At that Dori throws his knife and fork down and picks up his plate, leaving the dining table to eat elsewhere. Nori follows him, though Bombur notices he looks back at his younger sister and Dwalin a few times

Kili turns to his brother, whispering in his ear, “We’re not really talking about the gravy and the salt anymore are we?”

The dinner picks up a little after that, though not much, Dori and Nori’s disapproval settling like a pall over the whole Company. Still, it’s not all bad. Bofur has everyone singing a few wedding songs as Bilbo brings out his cake, and even Thorin seems to smile as Dwalin and Ori cut a slice each and put it on the other’s plate. 

It is after dinner that Dwalin notices how tired Ori… _his wife_ is, he can see the circles under her eyes, how she keeps rubbing at her face. She’s had a long, hard day and now more than ever she needs her rest. 

“Come on lass,” he says, putting an arm over her shoulder as she picks at some of the last strawberries, “How about a quick tub, then bed?”

Bifur, who was collecting the dessert plates from the table chortled at Dwalin’s words, catching the larger dwarf’s eye and waggling his eyebrows at him. Dwalin threw his plate at him, Bifur catching it expertly and giving a cheeky smile and a small bow as he left them alone. 

They head upstairs so Ori can get her soap and comb and it is there they find Dori and Nori, either getting ready to sleep themselves or staking out Ori’s room (possibly both, Dwalin finds himself thinking). He hears Ori give a little sigh beside him and feels her lean more heavily against his arm. 

“Oh, and what are you two up to?” Dori sniffs, crossing his arms. Nori’s eyes flick between his sister and brother, tugging at one of the points of his beard uncomfortably. 

“I’m having a shower and I’m goin’ to bed Dori. Is that alright by you?” Ori asks, rolling her eyes, she opens the door to her bedroom and heads inside. Dwalin stands outside the door, arms crossed and glaring. 

“Oh, you are, are ye?” Dori pulls himself up to his full height, still half a head shorter than Dwalin, “And I spose he’s goin’ with you is he?”

“Well, that’s the general point of this whole marriage lark!” Ori snaps as she comes out, nighty over her arm and soap in hand. As if to make her point she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to Dwalin’s cheek as she walks past and down to the bathing rooms. 

Dwalin gives Dori and Nori a stern look as he walks in the opposite direction, down to the men’s bathrooms. Now Dwalin isn’t one for unnecessary bathing, he had a very thorough wash yesterday when they arrived at the house and that would normally be enough to last him _at least_ until they got to Erebor, but it is his wedding night, he feels he should make an effort. 

He slips back into the bedroom after washing and is very pleased to find Ori already in bed waiting for him. Ahh, his sweet Ori, her skin so warm and her arms so inviting as they wrap around him in bed. 

“I don’t care you know…” she whispers, and he instantly knows what she means. He holds onto her tighter. 

“I don’t care how many you’ve courted,” she kisses the line of his jaw, rubs her face into the coarse hair of his beard, “Dori’s...he’s old fashioned.”

Dwalin hesitates a moment before speaking, “I was always lookin’…” his hands slide down her back, “I always knew I was meant to be with someone, I’m not like Balin, not meant to be alone…so I was always lookin’ for the lass I was meant to be with…”

“Shh…” she kisses him, stopping his words, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“…I’d almost given up. It’d been so long and I hadn’t found her. And then there you were lass, hidden from me at first, but all grown up…and I think part of me knew right then, that you were the one for me.”

She kisses him again and giggles, not in the mood for much more talking, “An’ now you have me, don’t ya?”

She rolls him over so he’s on his back and climbs on top of him, back where she was last night before they got so unfortunately interrupted by Nori and Bofur. His hands slide up her waist and cup her breasts. 

“You’re sure this is…alright lass? What with you bein’…”

“Tch, I’m fine. I already asked Oin if we could still do it and he said as long as you weren’t too rough we’d be right.”

“You asked Oin about…this?” Dwalin looks slightly horrified. 

“Well, I didn’t give him any details or nothing! But I wanted to know…” she leans down and kisses him again, “He’s a midwife, you know? Delivered half the babies in Erid Luin has Mister Oin…”

Dwalin did know that, he realizes, one of those things you knew but never really thought about. He did recall though that Oin had dropped Gloin’s lad (the Astoundingly Amazing Gimli) on his head when he was born…not a comforting thought. 

Still, Dwalin thinks as his hands slide down Ori’s soft, but still flat, stomach and she gives a soft moan, grinding down on top of him, there were hardly a multitude of midwives on the quest with them (unless the burglar was hiding his light under a bushel). They would probably have to make do with what was available...

~*~*~

Dwalin wakes the next morning and rolls over, pleased to feel a soft, warm little bundle next to him in bed. The bundle makes a soft ‘mmm’ noise as he puts his arms around it, pulling it closer. She’s still here, he’s still married, it wasn’t just some lovely dream.

Ori stretches and wraps her arms around Dwalin’s neck, kissing his cheeks

Dwalin gives a groan, “Can’t an old man get some sleep?”

“Don’t go callin’ my husband an old man…” she says, all mischief…at least at first. 

Dwalin opens his eyes as Ori suddenly pulls away, giving a little groan and leaning her head off the bed. 

“Hey, you alright lass?”

She gives a soft groan, “Bit quesy…oooh…”

He jumps out of bed, “You need a bucket? Or I can take you down to the toilets…”

She breathes deeply through her nose for a minute or two before speaking, “No…no…I think it’s passin’ for now,” she takes a few more breaths, “A cup of tea would be mightily appreciated though…”

Dwalin comes around the bed and presses a kiss to her forehead, “You’ll have it. In the meantime…” he looks around the room, his eyes settling on the hat box Ori had been using as a foot stool the previous night. He opened it up, pulls the (very silly, and quite frankly, overly frilly) hat he finds inside it out, and set the empty box by her bedside, “..for if you feel the need to chuck.”

Ori chuckles and flops back down onto the bed, hand over her eyes and trying to will the nausea away. Ugh, Oin had said the vomiting could last for months, some women even suffered from it the whole of their pregnancies. She really hoped that wasn’t the case for her. She didn’t really want to think about being like this as they made their way on the final leg of their journey to the Lonely Mountain…

The door to the bedroom creaks open. Ori rolls over, expecting it to be Dwalin returning with her tea, but instead sees Nori. He stands at the door awkwardly for a while, looking in at her. Ori doesn’t say anything, not asking him in but not asking him to leave either. 

After a stretch of silence he comes in, sitting on the edge of the bed. Nori cards his fingers through her hair, the same coppery colour as his, the only thing their useless Da ever bothered to give them. 

He clears his throat before he speaks, “Well…where is he then?”

Ori tucks her arm under her pillow, “Getting me a cup of tea. My tummy’s not good this morning.”

“That’s to be expected, I spose…” Nori is silent for a moment, looking at her face, “If I…if I change me tune about this marriage of yours, petal…if I stop fighting you on this…will you promise me something?”

She regards him carefully back, “Depends what it is…”

“I want ye to promise me…” His voice sounds strained all of sudden, he focuses on her hair again, “I want ye to promise you’re not just gonna spend the rest of yer life poppin’ out his kids…”

“What?” Ori sits up, but Nori is still going, wiping under his eye as a tear slips out. 

“Cause I know what happens! The girls that can, they get into their heads they have to make up for all them that can’t, and they have one after the other…until they’re too weak and tired to do anything but lay in bed until they die from the exhaustion of it!”

“Nori, don’t talk like this!” she begs, shock making her wrap her arms around Nori’s neck and letting him hug her back, almost too tightly. 

“You’re so clever petal, always were,” he says, speaking into her neck, voice choked, “Cleverer than me by far. You could do anything you wanted, you know. Dori and me, we just don’t want to see you let it all go.”

“You’re both such fools,” Ori whispers, “I’m not giving anything up! I gotta finish the book for one thing, and the Library at Erebor’s gonna need a lot of work…”

“Do you promise though?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, “Yes, I promise. I swear Nori.”

“Alright then,” Nori says. They don’t let go of each other for a while, it’s been a long time since Nori’s given his little sister a good long hug, years probably, and it was nice…comforting, “But I’m never callin’ that bastard brother!”

Ori finally lets go and gives Nori an exasperated smack to the shoulder, though there is no malice in it. She pulls over a few more pillows to her side of the bed so she can lean against them, “What about Dori though?”

He sighs, “I’ll talk to him, pet, for all the good it’ll do, you know how stubborn he can be. Don’t worry yourself about it too much, it might take a while but I guarantee ya, he’ll be settled with it by the time that baby’s here.”

“Well, I hope it’s a bit before then,” she grimaces, “I don’t want to be fightin’ him like last night for the next year.”

“Just let him get used to it a bit,” Nori ruffles her hair, Ori gives a little giggle, “He’s got it in his head that you’re still a babe in arms, petal. He just has to see you’re a proper lady now,” he presses his forehead against hers, teasing her a little with the overly formal gesture, “Movin’ up in the world as you are…”

“Oh stop it,” she rolls her eyes but smiles as she does, feeling so much better, despite her sickness. She had one brother’s blessing (as much as she would get from Nori, at any rate), and his belief that Dori would come around was comforting. Dori being cross with her just ate at her insides, making her feel all twisted and sick.

Or maybe that was something else entirely…

“Ooh…pass the hat box over would ya…ugh, I think Mister Bilbo’s cake is coming back up on me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dori is totes channeling the Earl of Lemongrab here. "WHO DID THE THING? UN-ACCEEEPTABLEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
> 
> First things, sorry this chapter took so long guys! It was a couple of things, I had real trouble writing the dinner scene...and I've just discovered one click ebook purchasing on Amazon...so now I've spent a lot of money filling up my iPad with new books and a lot of time reading them. 
> 
> A few notes about this chapter: I'm thinking for the purposes of this fic, a dwarven pregnancy lasts about a year, they live longer than humans so I just feel like their pregnancies would be longer than a human one. 
> 
> Also, I'm thinking that the age of majority for dwarves is 75, making Kili at 77 and Ori at 78 both adults, but only just. Turning 80 is a big milestone year, sort of like turning 21.


	13. Chapter 13

Dori always wakes early. It’s been a habit of his for many years, from a time of his life when he worked in construction, employed on a day by day basis. Those who turned up early had the best chance of work for the day and Dori, having an ailing mother and a toddling younger sister to care for, always wanted to have the best chance of a day’s wages. 

In the Laketown house there is no need to eat quickly and then rush out the door, no getting Ori dressed and dropping her off at old Lady Nam’s house, even though she hated it there (Lady Nam had smelled permanently of boiled cabbage and was a nasty pincher, in retrospect this was perhaps the origin of Ori’s hatred of green vegetables…) so Dori wanders down to the kitchen and starts his day with a cup of peppermint tea. 

Boiling the kettle, adding the tea, watching it steep…all of it a ritual he knows well. Once he’s poured his cup he sits in the kitchen and holds it between both of his hands, watching wisps of steam float up off the hot water. Tea normally calms him, almost everything can be improved after a nice hot cuppa, but not this morning. 

_Ori is married…_

If asked, Dori would never say that he had expected Ori to be single her whole life. He would have said that he only wished for Ori’s happiness, and if that happiness was to be found with some gentle (but not a milksop), kind (but not a fool), well bred (but not _too_ well bred, if there was one thing Dori could not stand, it was a snob), well educated (but not one of those insufferable intellectual types), young dwarrow (but not too young of course, at least 20 or 30 years her senior was quite respectable), who was proficient in a trade, employed and with enough money to keep Ori comfortably, and had the patience and respect to court Ori as she deserved, well…then Dori would be more than happy to give his blessing to such a union. 

But this…this _state of affairs_ …it was completely unacceptable! Mister Dwalin had seduced his younger sister. He had…had…well, everyone knew now what he had done to her, and after they had been found out, Thorin had done what Dori had to admit to himself was really the only respectable option given the circumstances, he had married them. 

The really terrible thing was that no-one but him seemed to realise how awful what had happened was! No-one but him seemed to care that little Ori had been taken advantage of! That she hadn’t been properly courted, given the gifts and honours that she deserved, that Dori hadn’t been given the chance to properly _know_ Dwalin, to learn if he was right for Ori and would care for her. 

Given the time of a proper courting Dori was certain it would become clear to both parties that they were poorly suited to each other. Dwalin was rough and hardened by years of battle and wandering, and Ori…well, if there was a more sensitive and gentle lass in the whole Middlearth, then Dori had not met her! And that was just the start; Dwalin was far too old to be taking a wife as young as her, he wouldn’t know a polite word if it smacked him in the face, and he probably didn’t even like tea! 

Besides, what security did marriage really offer a girl like Ori? Dori heaves a sigh and takes a sip of his tea. Marriage hadn’t stopped her and Nori’s father from just up and leaving not three days after Mam had announced she was pregnant with Ori. Mam had never really recovered from the hurt of it, from the shame, and when, barely 20 years after Ori’s birth, a lump had appeared in her armpit and her body had started to waste away, it was as if she just gave up, like life was just too much for her to continue with. 

Another long sip of tea. What would be Ori’s fate now? Considering how quickly she’d fallen pregnant, probably birthing for the rest of her life or until that brute tired of her. Would she ever get the chance to finish the Tale of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield? How much time would she have to draw with countless grubby toddlers clinging to her skirts (for all the children Dori imagined of the union of Dwalin and his sister were undeniably grubby, not to mention very Dwalin-like)? 

Dori looks up from his cup as someone else enters the kitchen and his brow furrows as he sees Dwalin enter, only in a long night shirt. Their eyes meet and for a moment Dwalin freezes in place, narrowing his eyes. They stare at each other for some time, until Dwalin sights the kettle at Dori’s side. 

“You usin’ that?” he grunts. 

Tch, typical. First his sister, now his tea. Did Dwalin have no decency?

Dwalin seems to sense Dori’s thoughts, “It’s for Ori. She’s not feeling well, said she wanted a cup of tea.”

Dori snorts and stands, taking the kettle over to the sink to re-fill it, “You don’t even know how she likes it…”

Dwalin’s mouth thins but he doesn’t rise to the bait, “I’d be more than willin’ to lean.”

Dori sets the kettle on the stove to boil. He doesn’t say anything in return. Dwalin can feel the disapproval radiate off of him and he shifts in his place. Mahal above, what was it about Dori that made him feel like a naughty child who’d been caught with his hands in the biscuit tin? He wasn’t that much older than him! 

Dori seems intent on watching the kettle boil from start to finish, back turned to his new brother in law, so it is Dwalin who speaks again, though he is not normally one for unnecessary words. 

“She’s upset by this, you know?” he starts, and when Dori says nothing continues on, “She’s tryin’ to hide it but she hates fightin’ with you, I can tell.”

Dori still says nothing, moving into the pantry where the other types of tea are kept (Ori isn’t fond of peppermint, a simple cup of Gondorian Breakfast would be best for an upset stomach anyway). The kettle starts to whistle. Dori picks a small teapot and puts the tea into the delicate little tea infuser he always carries with him, fitting it to the top of the pot and pouring the hot water through it. 

He puts the teapot on a tray with a cup and saucer, a spoon and the sugar bowl. He hands the whole tray to Dwalin, pale grey eyes staring up at the much larger dwarf. 

“She doesn’t take milk but she likes at least three sugars.”

Dwalin nods, both of them hold on to the tray for a while, neither willing to let go. A silent battle is waged over the tea tray until Dori suddenly sighs and lets go, his shoulders slumping. He walks back over to the breakfast table and his own cup of tea, staring down into the mug again. 

Dwalin adjusts his grip on the tray, “She’s gonna need you, you know. She needs ya now anyway…but when her time comes…she’ll want you with her.”

Dori takes a long breath in, “There is some time before that, Mister Dwalin.”

His voice is strained. Dwalin looks down at the tea and the grainy brown sugar, as if there was some answer to be found there. 

There isn’t. 

“Aye,” he says, leaving Dori to his tea and pretending to ignore the sound of soft sobs as he walks out of the kitchen. 

~*~*~

They leave Laketown the next day, their supplies handsomely restocked and with new ponies to make the journey faster. It is a good thing too, Durin’s Day draws close and they will need be at the Mountain in plenty of time to find the secret entrance. 

They make good time through the day and the make camp at night though it is not a jolly affair. The land around them is barren and desolate, lifeless, and there is nowhere they can really shelter either from the elements or from other’s eyes. 

Dwalin is more concerned about the weather, for who really would be foolish enough to follow them into a wyrm’s territory? The nights are becoming increasingly bitter and Dwalin’s eyes follow Ori as she pulls her overcoat closer around her. 

They curl up tightly against each other as they get ready for sleep, Dwalin putting his fur lined overcoat over her in her bedroll. He has to admit, even though Dori was still barely speaking to both of them, it’s nice they don’t have to hide anymore, that he can hold the woman he loves on a cold night. 

Gloin grumbles as he gets ready for first watch, something about how nice it’d be if everyone had someone to cuddle with. Oin answers back that his younger brother is not too old for a smack to the head if he so deeply feels the need of contact. Oin had never been much one for cuddling anyway. 

After four days hard riding, they find themselves at the foot of the Lonely Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time guys, and a bit sad. Blame it on watching "A Single Man" as I write. 
> 
> Next chapter should be a bit meatier, I promise. 
> 
> Also, I've decided to continue this beyond the end of the book a bit and I need some names for lady dwarves. I'm trying to think some up but I'd love some suggestions as well.


	14. Chapter 14

Ori has never lived under a mountain. 

Even when the family lived in Erid Luin, when she was just a child, they had lived in the above ground settlements, the rents below the ground being far more than they could afford. So when the Company sneaks into the Lonely Mountain, the Dragon gone (and their new ponies now cinders, they weren’t having a lot of luck when it came to ponies on this trip), Ori is taken aback at the feeling of calm and contentment which washes over her. Her original plan, of buying a little place down in Dale, is fast being replaced in her mind with a lovely set of tunnels in Erebor (still decorated in the style of the late Second Age though). 

She knew, on an intellectual level of course, how important it was for dwarves to live underground, that this is where they are meant to be. She just did not expect how strong the feeling of rightness that is settling into her bones, how she instantly thinks to herself that yes, this is where she wanted the baby to be born, where she wanted to raise her child...even if it did smell like dragon. 

The dragon didn’t seem to be coming back any time soon so Ori takes her time exploring the old city. The others seem content to make a camp in one of the large halls and set themselves up for a long stay but Ori wants to see so much more. Dwalin takes her through the tunnels he used to live in, before the Fall. He shows her his and Balin’s old family home, where he used to play with Thorin and the prince’s brother Frerin, who had been one of those to die when Smaug attacked. He shows her the great hall where the families of Thror and Fundin had all eaten together and the secret places he and Thorin had used to hide when they wanted to avoid their tutors, all the tiny pieces and fragments of a life which no longer existed. 

She wraps her arms around him, feeling tears come to her eyes at the sound of his voice, so wistful and far away. He hugs her back tightly and kisses the top of her head. 

“Aw, now I’ve gone an’ upset you…”

She sniffs, rubbing her nose on his shirt, “No, no you haven’t. It’s just hit me all of a sudden, is all, how many died…”

“Ah love, don’t think on it too much, it was many years ago. Come on, there’s one more thing I want to show ya…”

He leads her back through the tunnels which made up the home of the Sons of Fundin, right into one of the smaller bedrooms. Everything in the Mountain is covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, and this room is no different, but through the dirt, Ori can see a bright motif painted onto the walls of the room, lots of happy miners digging in the tunnels, holding colourful gems aloft, children playing, parents watching over them…a child’s room. 

Dwalin tugs at Ori’s hand, turning her around and drawing her attention to the left side of the room and the crib that sits there. It is dirty, like everything else, the blankets and bedding long since perished away, but Ori can see its quality. She runs her finger through the dust, cleaning off a stripe to show the thick varnished oak underneath the grime, she can see the wood is inlaid with gold and mithril. 

“Oh Dwalin…it’s beautiful.”

“I knew you were worryin’ about finding a crib for the baby. We’ll get this one cleaned up, I’m sure we can get the material from Laketown to make sheets an' a mattress...” Dwalin sits down on an old chest by the wall.

Ori kisses his forehead and sits in his lap, “Maybe Dori’ll even forget his sulkin’ for a while and knit us some nice soft toys. 

Dwalin chuckles and puts one arm around her waist, his other hand resting on her belly which is still flat, not showing any signs of her pregnancy yet, “What d’ya think it’s gonna be? Boy or a girl?”

“Boy definitely, no-one ever has a girl their first try.”

“And dwarrowdams never get pregnant while travelling neither,” he says, giving her a tickle, “I wouldn’t count it out, is all.”

She gives a noncommittal hum, “We’ll see. Come on, help me carry this out and we can get it all cleaned up.”

They carry the crib out (Dwalin doing most of the carrying, he’s certain Oin said something about Ori avoiding heavy lifting) and all the rest of the Company agree on seeing it that it is very fine crib. Bilbo brings over a pail of water from the water pump they finally have running clear (it took the better part of a day of pumping, various members of the Company taking turns) and he and Ori start wiping the grime off. 

By the time dinner is called the crib is looking very fine indeed. Bilbo stands with his hands on his hips and nods at their hard work. 

“Well, Missus Ori, if I do say so myself, that is a very fine place for a baby to rest. Now, if we can just get some nice material up from Laketown I could get started on a layette for you,” he thinks about this for a while, “Tell me, what's a proper colour for babies among dwarves?”

Ori smiles and runs her fingertips along one of the mithril inlays, “Yellow is very popular.”

“Ah yes, similar to gold I suppose…”

Bombur calls again that dinner is ready and they leave the crib for the Company's camp. 

There are high spirits at dinner that night. Everyone is cheery enough that it even seems to rub off on Dori a little, so much so that he almost smiles at Ori as he passes her a serve of stew and dumplings. It heartens her and as she lays down on her bedroll next to Dwalin to sleep she opens her notebook and looks at the list she had written entitled ‘Things We Need For The Baby.’

She crosses off ‘midwife’, ‘crib’, and ‘place to live’ from the list. That just leaves baby clothes (of varying sizes), nappies, toys, a few teated waterskins for feeding, maternity clothes, something called ‘nursing stays’ which Oin had told her were an absolute necessity (though she wasn’t quite sure what they were), a good solid sling, blankets and furs, a mattress and a little pillow for the crib, and a changing table. 

She sighs. Ah well, it’s a start isn’t it? She closes her book as Dwalin comes to lay down beside her. Balin comes and sits beside them for a while, smoking his pipe and chatting softly about his plans for the restoration. Ori still finds it odd when someone as highborn as Balin calls her sister, or when Fili calls her cousin, but she supposes it’s something she’ll get used to. 

Nori comes over and says goodnight as well, kissing her on the forehead and giving Dwalin a nod. He whispers in her ear that Dori is weakening, he snuck a look in their older brother’s pack before and saw the start of some knitted baby shoes inside. 

That is enough to send Ori to sleep with a smile on her face, pulling Dwalin’s arm around her waist. She has a very strong feeling everything is going to be alright…

~*~*~

Nothing is going to be alright. 

Ori is certain of that as she watches Thorin, their leader and king, pick their hobbit off of the ground and roughly shake him. 

She shrinks back into the shadows where she is unseen in the doorway to the treasure hoard. That is where Thorin has been spending all of his time in recent days, wandering among the piles of gold and jewels with a fixed look on his face, snapping at any who ask him to come and join the rest of the Company for meals or to answer any of the missives from Bard or the Elven King. 

Their 'enemies' are in possession of the Arkenstone, their armies are at the doors of Erebor, and this seems only to have heightened Thorin’s madness…

Ori’s hands start to shake around the plate she’s holding (she had been bringing Thorin lunch, though she hates the job, hates seeing the edge of madness in Thorin’s eyes when she brings it). She sees Thorin roar out a curse at Bilbo as he cowers on the ground, stalking around him, his face contorted in rage. 

He grabs the hobbit by the neck of his shirt and pulls him back up onto his feet. The sound of the slap echoes throughout the hall and Ori flinches. Oh Malah! What is happening? What has become of them! How has everything gone so wrong?

“TRAITOR!” Thorin roars, “YOU ARE A TRAITOR TO US ALL!”

He raises his hand to slap Bilbo again and Ori cannot see that a second time. Her shout of ‘stop’ leaves her mouth before she even thinks. Thorin’s head snaps around to where she is standing and his eyes narrow, but he drops Bilbo, the hobbit scurrying away from his attacker. 

Ori doesn’t know what to do or say next. She doesn’t move, hands tight around the plate. She thinks about how far she is from Dwalin, her brothers and the rest of the Company, how far she’ll have to run if Thorin decides to turn his rage against her…

Thorin has not quite reached the depth of madness needed to attack a pregnant woman, though the look in his eyes is pure rage. He turns away from her and snarls at Bilbo. 

“Get out of my sight, burglar, and may you never set foot in my Mountain again!” he stamps his foot as Bilbo gets to his feet and starts to run for the door on the other side of the hall, “YOU ARE BANISHED FROM THIS PLACE, BILBO BAGGINS! BANISHED!”

Bilbo takes one last look at Ori as he stands at the doorway, she sees him mouth “I’m sorry” at her before he disappears into a passage. She wants to go with him, a mountain full of gold doesn’t seem worth it all of a sudden, not if this is what they are to become…

She looks back at Thorin and sees he has already lost interest in her now the source of his rage is gone, his hands sifting through the pile of gold coins closest to him. She silently puts his lunch plate on the ground, next to the ignored breakfast plate and the half eaten one from the night before, and turns from the hoard. She hates the sight of it now, she wishes Smaug had melted it all down into nothing. 

She pulls her cardigan tight around her as she walks back to the camp. Dwalin isn’t there, it is his turn to stand guard at the ramparts on their hastily constructed siege wall. Remembering this brings tears to her eyes. She wants him here! Right now! He’s supposed to protect her! 

Then there is a warm arm around her shoulder and Dori is beside her, “What is it love? You look as pale as chalk…”

This is the most Dori has said to her in days and that makes the tears come in full force. She throws her arms around him and holds onto her brother with all her strength as she sobs.

“M-mister Thorin…I saw him an’…” she cannot say the words aloud, “He’s sent Mister Bilbo away! He’s banished him!”

Dori gives a long sigh, leading Ori to sit beside him at the fire. He feels so tired all of sudden, so very tired of all this. Loyalty is important to their people, and that is what has kept him here as he watched Thorin’s mind be consumed with greed, watched Balin withdraw into himself, sending message after message by raven to his kin in the Iron Hills, saw the others start to doubt and despair as the siege set in. They are already breaking apart old furniture for firewood and the food they brought with them from Laketown is running low.

More and more he just wants to take Nori and Ori and leave for the Men’s camp outside. Ori could even bring Dwalin…though he knows that the warrior’s loyalty is to his King. He will not leave Thorin and Ori will not leave him…so Dori finds he has to stay. Someone has to stay and protect Ori. 

He makes sure she eats and then lays her down on her bedroll, whispering all sorts of hope filled nonsense as he pulls the blankets over her shoulders. Soon Bofur comes and puts a hand on Dori’s shoulder, saying it’s his turn to stand guard on the wall. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her company,” he says, nodding towards Ori. Dori nods in return and leaves for his shift. 

Dwalin looks up as Dori joins him on the ramparts and instantly moves to stand beside him. Dori looks out over the camps of Men and Elves which lie in front of them and then down to the base of the wall. There are a few Men on guard below them, though it looks like they are almost all napping in the afternoon sun. Two elf soldiers are playing a game of dice to the side. 

“I’m glad yer here,” Dwalin says softly. If Dori didn’t know better he’d swear he was whispering. 

“I…” Dwalin looks around, making sure they are alone, “I need yer help.”

Dori looks up at Dwalin, confused. He is about to ask what for but stops, seeing the tortured look on Dwalin’s face, like his is in the throes of some great conflict inside himself. He doesn’t say anything for some time and when he finally does, he signs it out in Iglishmek, as if the words themselves are too hard from him to speak aloud. 

_“You…Ori…me…”_ he pauses for a moment before very deliberately signing out the last word.

_“Escape.”_

Dori’s eyes go wide. Dwalin wants them to leave, he wants to abandon Thorin, their quest and riches, the Mountain itself! For Dwalin to say such a thing…it is going against his very nature, everything he has ever known and been taught!

_“Why?”_ Dori signs back. 

Dwalin gives back two simple signs, ones Dori has not seen in some years:

_“My wife…my child.”_

Dori blinks but then nods his understanding. He is silent for a while before he speaks, switching back to the common tongue. 

“Can I bring Nori?”

“If he’ll come.”

“We’ll need him. He’s good at sneakin’ out of places…as you probably well know.”

Dwalin gives a wry snort and a nod, Nori had slipped out of enough of prison cells for him to be well aware of that. 

“As I see it,” Dori says, “Our best chance is at night. We get out and try to get to Gandalf in the Men’s camp. I don’t know…perhaps if Thorin starts to see some of leavin’ he might put a stop to this madness…”

Dwalin looks away and Dori stops talking, knowing he has gone too far. They are silent for some time. 

“I’ll speak to Nori about it. I think he’s already found some passages out, he keeps disappearing off…more than usual for him.”

Dwalin nods again, “Good. I’ll make sure Ori is packed up and ready.”

“You don’t want to bring yer own brother?” Dori watches as the elves finish their game of dice, one of them bringing out a flute. The music drifts up to them on the wall, soft and mournful, almost lost on the wind. 

Dwalin looks down at his feet, “He won’t come. He still thinks Dain will come to our aid.”

Dori gives a snort. There is a better chance of Thorin waking up tomorrow morning and inviting King Thranduil in for tea and scones. 

“Alright. We make our move tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That came out really quickly, especially considering how hard the last chapter was. I think I might be past my writers block with this. 
> 
> Ori's a bit weepy in this chapter, but hey, pregnancy hormones!


	15. Chapter 15

Nori has, in fact, found four secret passages out of the Mountain. He’s a dwarf that believes in always having an exit strategy, if not two or three, and when Dori comes to him with his and Dwalin’s plan to leave, he’s relieved. It’s about bloody time!

“Well…how are we gonna do it then?” Dori looks around the corner they’re standing behind, looking entirely suspicious. Nori suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, Dori never was one much for a good scheme, no card playing face…

Nori leans back against the wall, “We’ll do it after midnight, that’s a given. There’s one passage further towards the back of the Mountain, on the north side, it’s a longer walk back around to the camps but the slope down is gentler. It’ll be an easier trek in the dark.”

“Good…good…” Dori breaths deeply, like he’s been holding his breath. He wipes a hand over his face. 

Things won’t be easy after they leave. They’ll be traitors, guilty of abandoning Thorin Oakenshield and by extension, their whole Clan. He’d be surprised if they ever live in a dwarven community again. Still, they’ve lived through hard times before, they’ll live through these ones. Perhaps if they find Mr Bilbo they can convince him to let them accompany him back to the Shire. 

Dori had liked the Shire, such a lovely green place, all those flowers, it wasn’t under a mountain but it had its charm. They could stop at the troll hoard on the way back and pick up Nori’s ‘long term deposit’, that should be plenty to buy one or two of those funny little warren-like houses the Halflings lived in. With any luck, and if they traveled at a good pace, they could be there by late summer, in plenty of time for Ori to have the baby…

But these are all thoughts for later, once they have passed the first hurdle of actually escaping Erebor. 

Nori licks his lips, “Do you think we should…you know, invite a few others along?”

“Dwalin says Balin will not come,” Dori scratches at his head, shame tickling at him, he doesn’t really want to bring anyone else. They’ll only slow them down. “Fili and Kili will stay as well. Mister Gloin is determined to see this through, he’s invested heavily in the quest and Oin will stay with him…the Ur family perhaps…” he shrugs. 

“Hmm…” Nori nods, “We can’t all leave at once though…I could leave ‘em directions on how to get out, then they can make their own way.”

“Yes!” Dori says quickly, “Yes, I think that would be best.”

They say nothing more on the matter and rejoin the company. Dori sees Dwalin has ‘cleaned up’ his and Ori’s part of the camp, all of Ori’s things are packed up but her boots and thick coat lain which are on top of her pack. Dwalin sits by Gloin, sharpening his axes, he looks up at Dori and nods as he walks past. 

Apart from that they do not speak to each other, not until well past midnight, when Nori shakes Dwalin by the shoulder and with a jerk of his head tells him it’s time to go. 

Dwalin wakes Ori with a hand over her mouth. He leans in close to her ear as her eyes go wide. 

“Do ye trust me, lass?”

Ori nods, meeting Dwalin’s eyes. 

“Good. Put yer boots on for me, love, and yer coat now.”

By the time Ori is dressed she’s guessed his plan. Her stomach clenches and turns over. They’re leaving, they’re abandoning Thorin and the Mountain, what’s meant to be their home. She looks around the hall where the others are sleeping, this is probably be the last time she’ll see them. She’ll probably never see Bofur’s smile again, or taste Bombur’s cooking, or have Mister Oin to guide her when it's time for the baby to come…

Dwalin takes her hand and gives it a gentle tug. Ori looks over and sees Dori and Nori waiting at one of the doorways leading out of the hall, all packed up and ready to go as well. All right, she can do this. 

They move silently through the old City first, though roads and well worn walkways, then Nori leads them around a sharp left turn into a back alley, then some more, then down a hole in the ground which you’d almost definitely miss if you weren’t looking for it. Ori’s cave sense isn’t good but she has a vague sense they’re travelling right through the centre of the Mountain, coming out on the far north side. 

Soon they are travelling through plain tunnels, no ornament or even a smooth floor to indicate they are any different from a natural fissure in the rock or a very rough mining tunnel. She stumbles a few times on the rough ground but Dwalin is always there with a hand to steady her. 

After what feels like forever groping through the tunnels, Nori puts his hand up, calling a stop to their walk. Ori can barely see from the light of his dim lamp but she can see his hand groping over the wall, looking for some hidden latch to let them out. 

The door swings open and Ori sees a rectangle of deep blue night sky dotted with stars, almost bright compared to the pitch black of the tunnel. A puff of fresh night air flows in, chasing the stale air of the tunnel away and Ori takes a deep breath. Dwalin puts a hand on her shoulder as he walks past her, motioning for her to stay put while he and Nori check the way ahead is safe. 

Dwalin pulls one of his axes off his back and joins Nori at the mouth of the tunnel where he is standing, holding the torch. Dwalin has to push past him a little, he wonders for a moment why he’s standing so still in place, eyes fixed on the slope leading down from the secret exit. 

And then Dwalin looks down, and his eyes go wide. 

He snatches the lamp from Nori’s hand and smashes it on the ground, grabs him by the back of the collar and pulls him roughly back into the tunnel. 

“Close it! Mahal above, close it now!” he snarls and Nori’s hands scrabble over the wall, pulling the latch again and making the door creak closed. 

“What are you doing?” Dori hisses, “What was out there?”

“Orcs!” Nori gasps, finally finding his voice, “The whole back of the Mountain…covered in them! Thousands!”

Dwalin paces in the tight space. Word of the death of Smaug must have traveled quickly, the orcs and goblins descending on the Mountain to make their own play for the poorly guarded hoard. Mahal, and if the numbers he had briefly seen was any indication they’d win it too! Even if the armies camped in front of their gates banded together they would have no chance! 

Ori whimpers, trying to see Dwalin but blind in the dark. They’re trapped! Trapped in here like they were in the goblin caves! All of a sudden she can see the orcs overwhelming their little camp, no Gandalf there to save them this time. Her sharp pain flares in her side, right where the goblin had bitten her, and her hands clench over her belly. 

Then heavy hands fall on her shoulders and Dwalin is pulling her in close. 

“Ori lass,” he says, voice firm and calm, “I’m going ta get ya out. I swear, nothin’s gonna happen to ye or the baby.”

Dori’s spare lamp flickers to life, casting a low yellow glow around them. Nori takes it and looks over to Dwalin for direction. 

Dwalin keeps an arm around Ori’s waist, “All right, there’s no getting out this way,” he thinks for a moment, “We’re heading back to the camp.”

“So we’re just gonna sit here and wait for them to attack?” Dori snaps. 

“No,” Dwalin waits for Nori to walk to the front, leading them back up the tunnel. He keeps his arm around Ori, feeling as a tremor passes though her. 

“I’m gonna fix this.”

~*~*~

All the best conversations start with a punch to the face. 

At least that’s what Dwalin believes, Thorin might have different opinions on the matter. 

The would be King Under the Mountain goes flying, landing on his back on a pile of gold coins. He groans and blinks, temporarily stunned before he sees who his attacker is, face turning to thunder when Dwalin swims into focus above him, shaking his sore hand. 

Thorin struggles to his feet, he hasn’t eaten in the last two days and his reactions are slow but he still manages to make a fast lunge at his oldest friend. Dwalin dodges. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Thorin shouts as they stalk around each other. 

“I’m doin’ what I should’a done days ago, I’m knocking some fucking sense into ye!”

Thorin snarls and grabs a sword from one of the hoard piles behind him, not Orcrist, an ornamental one, inlaid with gold, dull from lack of use and not intended for combat in the first place. He swings wildly at Dwalin, the other dwarf easily dodging those attacks too. 

Dwalin is almost embarrassed at how easy it is to slip between Thorin’s attacks and land another punch to his nose. Thorin goes down again and then struggles to his knees. 

“Traitor! You’re after my gold! My birthright!” he snarls, blood spraying out of his mouth. 

“I couldn’t give a flying orc’s bollock about yer fucking gold!” and with that Dwalin picks Thorin up by the scruff of his neck, dragging him away from his precious hoard and down the halls, back to the Company’s camp. 

“Look at us!” Dwalin throws Thorin down in the middle of the camp, the others jerking awake at the commotion, “Look at where yer pride and greed has left us! Squatting in squalor in our own Mountain!”

Thorin stays down on his knees but his voice is still full of rage, “We have to stay strong! We cannot show them weakness!”

“So’d you’d let us all starve to death in here, all because you will not aid a people whose town was destroyed!?”

“THEY HAVE NO RIGHT!”

“YOU ARE A FOOL!” Dwalin roars, “Do ye know what’s outside? Orcs! Covering the north side of the Mountain, thousands of them! Waiting for the right moment to attack and ye’ve given it to them! You’ve destroyed any chance we have of making an alliance tha’ might save us, and now they’re gonna pick us off, one by one!”

Thorin blinks, and for the first time since they entered the Mountain his eyes look clearer, “Orcs…?”

“And goblins! I saw ‘em too,” Nori pipes up, “At least four thousand, maybe more.”

Thorin’s eyes narrow, his eyes flick to Nori and then focus solely on Dwalin, “What were you doing on the north side of the Mountain?”

Dwalin’s hands clench but he doesn’t look away from Thorin, “We were leavin’.”

There is a sharp intake of breath from across the room, Gloin or Balin maybe. Dwalin doesn’t look away from Thorin, the rage in his King’s face making way for shock and just a little pain. 

“Dwalin…” Thorin finally stands, “You were…abandoning me? Of all the members of this Company…I would have thought you would be by my side to the end.”

Dwalin finally closes his eyes, unable to look at the hurt on his oldest friend’s face, the betrayal. 

“Yeah…well…I’m not just thinkin’ o’ myself anymore, am I?”

That seems to make Thorin pause. He looks around the camp as if seeing it for the first time, seeing Dori where he sits, his arm over Ori’s shoulder, seeing how tired Balin looks, how disheveled Bofur and Bombur are, how scared Kili looks…

He puts his hands over his eyes. Oh Mahal, be merciful! The fog of the last week is lifting. He knows what he has done, who he has hurt. What has he done?

_What has he done?_

Strong hands grab his shoulders and turn him around, Dwalin bringing Thorin’s attention back, “There’ll be time for tha’ later. Come on, what’re we gonna do ta fix this?”

Thorin knows what he has to do. He is King under the Mountain. He will not let his Companions die in here, surrounded by enemies! The curse of his line will not rest on him! 

“Balin!” he says, voice resolute, “Call one of your ravens, send word to Dain and the Elf, we must meet immediately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiss with a fist is better than none, Thorin. 
> 
> Ooooh, more drama. Don't worry too much guys, I remember my promise to give you all a happy ending and you'll have it.


	16. Chapter 16

Dwalin isn’t entirely sure where he is…

It’s…dull really, just a very plain room with, oddly enough, a burnt orange floral pattern papered onto the walls, a purple scratchy rug under his feet. He wasn’t a dwarf with an eye for design or decor, not like Balin was, but Dwalin knew ugly wallpaper when he saw it. The bench he sat on was…not exactly uncomfortable…but not precisely a welcome place to rest either…

Rest…Did he need to rest? Was that why he was here?

Wherever here was…

There was a nasty tingle in his left thigh, like his leg had fallen asleep and was just starting to wake up. He rubbed at it with the heel of his hand absently, mind more occupied with the mystery around him. 

“It won’t get better if you do that.”

Dwalin snapped around, and there beside him, sitting on the same bench and, interestingly, eating a plate of chopped sausage, was Frerin, son of Thrain, brother of Thorin. Dwalin blinked, part of him knew this should be very alarming, because Frerin had been dead for over a hundred years, and yet he also felt Frerin had been sitting beside him for some time, and he had rather a feeling they had been speaking before ( _before? Before when?_ ) so really couldn’t find it in himself to be too shocked. 

When he tried to speak, it seemed very hard to do so, like his mouth was full of molasses and it was a struggle to open, “How…how long have I been here?”

Frerin shrugged, pushing his dark hair over his shoulder, “A while. Not long in the big scheme of things.”

He put another piece of sausage in his mouth, chewing and giving a satisfied hmm. 

The tingle in Dwalin’s leg started to pinch, he shifted where he sat. 

“Is this…am I dead?”

“That’s a bit on the dramatic side, isn’t it? No, you’re not dead…well, you’re not really alive either. Why do things always have to be so black and white, do you wonder?”

Dwalin snorted. Bloody Frerin, always with the odd ideas. He’d been very fond of Frerin when he had been alive, they were both second sons, of similar backgrounds, but he had bonded more with Thorin and their shared love of combat. Frerin had always been a little more on the artistic side, often to be found with a faraway look on his face or sketching out some interesting structure of the rock or the halls. Ori and he probably would have been good friends…

“Well…if I’m not alive and I’m not dead, what the bloody hell am I?”

“You’re waiting,” Frerin answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “There’s a bit of a fuss at the moment, about whether you’re meant to go one way or the other.”

Frenin nodded over to two doors on the wall to their left, both a little on the shabby side, rather like the rest of the room. 

“You mean…whether I stay dead or not?”

Another nod. 

“But…I thought all this stuff was…you know…decided. Before we were even born.”

Frenin laughed at that, “Well, it’s meant to be. But there’s always wiggle room in there, isn’t there? The Big Fella did want you to come at this time, that was his plan…”

“The Big…” Dwalin gaped, “Yer not talkin’ about…you know,” his voice dropped, “the Maker.”

Dwalin was not normally one to be afraid of taking Mahal’s name in vain, he’d certainly done it enough when he was alive. It just seemed a bit rude to do so in the God’s own house, is all. 

Frerin chuckled, “He can hear you, you know, even if you whisper. Well, _especially_ if you whisper actually, their ears work a bit differently to ours as it turns out. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, the Big Fella had it all written down you’d come now, but the Missus isn’t real happy with that.”

“The Missus…you mean the Giver of Fruits?”

“That’s the one. Now, don’t go spreading this around but the Big Fella, the Maker, he doesn’t do all the making himself. He did at the start but he got a bit tired of it after a while, it’s not easy you see. And he could never really get girls right,” Frerin paused to eat the last piece of sausage from his plate, “Just not his area of expertise. So anyway, he gets the Missus in to give him a hand, she finished up most of her making a couple of thousand years ago with the hobbits and she’s been a bit bored since, and she’s taken over most of the girl making.”

“She tends to have favorites, that’s the only problem, and Ori’s one of hers. So now they’re having a bit of a row about whether you come now or you get sent back.”

Dwalin wasn’t entirely sure how to take the fact that two gods were having a domestic tiff about his fate in the next room. His leg started to throb, he winced.

“She’s a bit special, that Ori. You'd better take good care of her.”

Dwalin huffs, “I bloody well intend to.”

They were silent for a while after that, Dwalin shifting more and more in his seat. He looks around the room again.

“So…is all of the afterlife…” he waves his hand around, “like this?”

“Hmm? Oh…not really. There’s less purple in the other parts.” Frerin suddenly looked up, as if hearing someone speaking to him, and then nodded, “Ahh, she’s won. She usually does though.”

The pain in Dwalin’s thigh flared, he made a short groan, clasping his hand down on it. Suddenly the room around him was growing dim, Frerin was sitting further away. He tried to yell out to him but his mouth felt full of molasses again and all that came out was another moan. There was so much more he wanted ask…

Frerin smiled back at him, opened his mouth to speak, but when he did his voice was not his own, too high, one Dwalin almost recognized: 

“Oh please…Dwalin, please! Don’t leave me!”

And then everything was white.

~*~*~

She’d promised. In fact, she’d made three promises, one to her husband and one to each of her brothers, that she would stay behind the lines. 

She hadn’t argued, hadn’t protested hotly that she had killed her own share of orcs, wargs and spiders already on the journey and deserved to see the battle out with the rest of the Company. A few months ago she would have. But she was pregnant now, another heart beating beneath her own, and Oin would need help behind the lines with the injured. 

So she makes her three promises to stay behind the lines and starts to rip up old blankets into strips, making them into the bandages they would need. The men of Laketown set up a long tent to house the injured, their own healers rolling up their sleeves and scrubbing their hands hard with harsh lye soap until their skin was pink. 

Ori watches as Oin lays out his surgical instruments on a low bench the men had brought in. The other healers inch over to look over his shoulder, looking with greedy eyes at Oin’s mithril tipped scalpels, the ivory handled bone saw which made Ori’s stomach turn just to look at it. She barely dared look at some of the other instruments; there was a set of nasty sharp shears which looked an awful lot like something you’d use to bone a chicken which filled her with dread. 

And then there was a trumpet outside, the horn of Dain’s men’s sounding through the valley, the horns of the Elves and Men joining it, a mighty roar filling the whole Mountain, and Ori knew then that the battle had started. 

To start she was given more preparation jobs. She ripped up bandages, set up several fires around the tent and sent the boys too young to fight to gather more wood so there would be fuel throughout the night to keep the water the healers needed warm. 

The injured started as a trickle, shallow axe wounds which needed stitching, gashes and cuts. Oin uses the first few patients to show Ori how to stitch up a wound. 

“You see that lass; small, even stitches, just like joining two pieces of leather. You got clever little hands, you’ll catch on quickly.”

Ori very much doubts that but, after an hour or two of fighting, when the wounded are coming thicker and Oin’s skill is needed sawing limbs and deciding who there is a chance of saving, she finds herself with needle in shaking hands, sitting before a large Firebeard mercenary with a long gash in her upper arm. 

“Come on boy-o,” the woman growls, “It’s not gonn’ae sew itself up is it?”

Ori takes a deep breath and threads the fine silk through the needle. The dwarrowdam takes a long swig out a flask she pulls from her hip as Ori starts to stitch, barely flinching as the needle passes through her flesh. 

Soon it is done and Ori is wiping some ointment over the sewn wound and wrapping a bandage around her patient’s arm. 

“Is there anything else ye need help with?” Ori asks, washing her hands. 

“Ye got anything for this?” the mercenary says, hoisting up a large axe with an orc’s head embedded on the business end of it. 

That makes Ori smile, reminding her of Dwalin, “See the lads outside, I’m sure you’ll find someone to help you pull it off.”

Her patient raises an eyebrow and gives her a sly smile, “The last lad who stitched me up ended up me third husband. We both make it through this and you might be me fourth, sweet. The other three have been whining they want a new brother-husband.”

Ori blushes and sends the mercenary on her way, saying she has more patients waiting. She knew from her studies that the Firebeards often married several of their men to one woman to deal with the lack of them in their clan, she’s just surprised she is still passing as a boy, her pants were already barely fastening and her under clothes were stretched tight over her growing breasts, she rather thought it was more obvious she was a woman now.

Then more injured come and Ori has no more time to think. They run out of room in the tent for Ori’s suturing and she moves to beside one of the fires to work. Anytime she is not doing this she is running hot water into the tent or taking away bloodied bandages. Once or twice she is grabbed by Oin to assist in a surgery. She is not strong enough to hold down the patients but her smaller hands are of use pulling shards of orc blades out of wounds. She dreads that, putting her fingertips into an open wound, the flesh hot and the patient often screaming and squirming around her, makes what little she has eaten come back up her throat. 

There are so many injured, men, dwarves, and elves, their bodies covering the ground as more and more come. They move those who die away as fast as they can. She knows more dead will be on the battleground but tries not to think too long it, images of Dwalin, Dori or Nori, any of the Company, struck down flashing through her mind. She shakes her head, chasing them away as she kneels by a dying dwarrow from the Iron Hills, pressing a cup of water to his lips as he begs for it. 

She works through night, barely feeling time pass. At the light of first dawn the tide of battle turns, the mighty eagles swooping down on their enemy. Ori looks out over the battlefield and is certain she sees the form of a massive bear reared up on its hind legs. 

When victory is called she cries tears of exhaustion, falling to her knees. Oin grips her on the shoulder. 

“Come on lass. The work’s not done yet.” His voice is tired and heavy. There is no joy in it. 

Ori soon realises why. She walks with Oin through the bodies of the fallen, trying to find any who have survived and need aid amongst the dead. Ori scans every face, dreading seeing a familiar one but unable to stop her search. 

One of the first they find is Balin, Bifur standing with him. They are both well, though Bifur has a nasty cut on his side. Ori looks hopefully to Balin, to see if he has any news of Dwalin. He shakes his head sadly and starts leading Bifur up the rise to the tents. 

They find Fili, Kili’s arm pulled over his shoulder. Kili’s other hand is wrapped in some bloody scrap of fabric and his face is pale and drawn. Oin unwraps the cloth over the lad’s hand and Ori sees him blanch, quickly rewrapping it more tightly with bandages Ori hands him. 

Again she asks for word of Dwalin and her brothers. At her words Fili goes almost as pale as his brother beside him. Ori feels something heavy drop into her stomach. 

He licks his lips, voice rough as he speaks, “Over…over that rise there Ori mate…”

Ori vaguely hears Oin yell after her as she drops her bag of supplies and starts off at a run, her body finding strength from some hidden place inside her. She reaches the crest of the rise and looks down. She recognizes Thorin’s silhouette against the dawn light. He holds a prone form in his arms, head on his lap, a huge, cruel looking orc spear pinning the body to the ground through its thigh. 

Thorin looks up to her on the ridge, and his face tells her who it is, the tears on his cheeks saying everything. 

Someone screams. An awful sound, full of pain and grief. It is only much later that Ori learns that sound came from somewhere inside of her. 

She runs to Thorin, tripping halfway down the slope and falling, her hands catching her and coming away covered in mud and stinking goblin blood. She retches and coughs through her tears, crawling the last few feet over to Thorin and Dwalin. She’s vaguely aware of Thorin trying to speak to her, trying to calm her and put a hand on her shoulder. 

She shoves him away, tries to shove him away from her and her husband. This is his fault! All his fault! He has no right to touch him! It should be him on the ground! He should be dead instead!

“I know,” Thorin cries out, “Don’t you think I wish it was!?”

Ori looks up at him, not realizing she had been speaking aloud. She turns back to Dwalin, pressing her forhead to his. Her tears fall onto his pale face. She presses a kiss to his lips. 

“Oh please…Dwalin, please! Don’t leave me!”

~*~*~

Dwalin still doesn’t quite know where he is. This place doesn’t look anymore like the Halls of the Maker than the last one did. He’s in a bloody tent for one thing. Death is turning out to be a remarkably confusing affair. 

He tries to open his mouth and that molasses feeling is still there, expect now it feels like his throat is burning, like he’s been gargling razors. A cool hand touches his cheek and his shoulders are lifted slightly. His whole body screams at the movement, but it is worth it when a cup full of cool water is pressed to his lips. He drinks greedily. 

The cup is taken away when it’s finished and he grumbles. He’s still thirsty. More. 

“Just a second, lemme pour it first.”

He forces his eyes open at the sound of that voice. That sweet voice, soft and higher than a man’s. Ori. His wife. His love. 

“Hey! Relax or you’ll rip open all o’ Mister Oin’s good work,” she says taking his hand as he reaches for her, “I’m alright. Everything’s alright.”

She tries to press the cup to his lips again but he moves his head away. “The baby?” he croaks. 

“Everything’s fine,” she soothes, pressing the cup to his lip, “You just rest.”

His hand grips hers hard when he’s drunk his fill. He doesn’t think he has the strength to say anything else. 

She smiles down at him, stroking a hand over his forehead, “Don’t fret. I’m stayin’ right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm not really happy with this chapter but I felt like I needed to get it up. I've had a lot of trouble with it and I reserve the right to change it in future. 
> 
> In earlier versions of this fic I had Ori fighting in the BOFA, but as I wrote, and the whole pregnancy plot point came up, I realized it wasn't quite what I wanted from this fic. I have a lot of feels and opinions about the whole 'strong female character' trope in fiction, which can basically be boiled down to that there are a lot of ways to be strong, and fighting in a battle is only one of those ways. I still wanted Ori to participate but not necessarily in the front lines, so we have nurse!Ori. 
> 
> In that way, this chapter is dedicated to my sister and my mum, who are both nurses and seriously kick so much ass. 
> 
> (PS. I promise we'll be back to something a little more lighthearted soon)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am so so so sorry I've made you all wait so long for the next installment of this fic. Work has been busy, and I had to travel out of town quite suddenly for it and I didn't have my laptop so that slowed me down a little. 
> 
> So, to make up for it, here's a nice long chapter featuring various badass ladies. 
> 
> Also I'm putting a TRIGGER WARNING here for some ableist language from Dwalin about himself.

When Dwalin wakes again Ori is gone and he almost panics, forgetting that the battle is over. A strong hand presses down on his chest, stopping him from getting up and a familiar voice speaks to him. 

“Lay still…you’ll rip your stitches.” 

Dwalin looks up, Thorin is beside him, looking tired and drawn and like he hasn’t slept in days. 

“Ori…?” Dwalin gasps, grabbing Thorin’s forearm. 

“She’s safe,” Thorin fills a cup with water and makes Dwalin take a sip, “Her brothers dragged her out to get something to eat. I said I’d sit with you until she comes back.”

The water makes it easier for Dwalin to talk, which is good, because he has something he needs from Thorin. 

“How are the lads?” he asks, “Fili and Kili, are they alright?”

“Fili is fine. Kili has lost a finger and may yet lose another,” Thorin rubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking so much older than his years. 

“Good…tha’s good…” Dwalin starts to force himself into a sitting position, Thorin helping to lean him against the back of the tent for support, “Thorin…I need ye to do somethin’ for me…”

“I owe you my life ten times over by this stage, old friend. Anything you ask, I will do.”

Dwalin takes a deep breath, his leg is throbbing and his head is spinning, “I want ye to annul my marriage.”

Thorin blinks, like he hasn’t quite heard correctly. “What?” he says flatly. 

“I know the law, it’s within’ yer power.”

Thorin’s forehead creases. He knows the law himself, better than most. Annulment is rare, only given in cases where a marriage has not been consummated (and in this case it clearly had been). 

“But why? You love her…”

Dwalin puts a hand to his forehead. His heart is breaking, he can feel the ache in his chest. But he knows what he has to do. It’s for the best and it’s for her. He’ll just have to take what comfort he can in that. It’s for Ori. 

“Annul the marriage. Marry her to Fili, like ye wanted. He’s a good lad, he’ll look after her. If ye do it quick enough the bairn can be passed off as his when it comes…”

“Stop this! You’re speaking nonsense!” Thorin hisses, “Why are you…”

“Because I ask it!” Dwalin yells back, throwing the cup he had been holding on the ground, “She’s 78! I won’t have her a widow or tied to the rest of her life to a lame old man!”

Thorin’s face grows dark as he realizes Dwalin’s meaning, “You’re a fool! Neither dead nor lame but still a fool! Do you think she’d ever agree to this? Ori has spent every waking moment by your side since you were found! She will have no other and I won’t end both her and your happiness because you’re feeling sorry for yourself!”

Thorin sits back on his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, “No more of this talk. You will recover. We will rebuild Erebor. Ori will have the baby in late summer and Dori and Nori will drive you insane for the rest of your life. I will have no more argument on the matter.”

Dwalin grunts, looking at Thorin askance, “So ye won’t do it then?”

“No. And you will thank me for it when you wake tomorrow feeling stronger and she is beside you.”

Dwalin is not sure about that but he is too tired all of a sudden to fight Thorin. He lays back down and slips back into sleep. 

~*~*~

The next time Dwalin wakes Ori is beside him and the light outside the tent tells him another day has passed. She has fried egg on her cheek and is chewing on some toasted bread. She makes a happy noise when she sees he’s awake and puts her plate on the floor.

“Yer up! I was just about to wake ye myself. I’ve got breakfast,” she picks up another plate, holding it out to him, the two fried eggs and bacon are arranged into a broad smiling face, “Look! Mister Bombur says it’s his good morning special!”

Dwalin blinks down at the breakfast.

“Come on, eat up. Mister Oin’ll be in soon and he wants to change yer dressings today. He says yer doing really well, he thinks you’ll be up and about in a week or two.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Yer bloody lucky really, the spear missed all the important things and just went right through yer meaty bits. Apparently there’s a big vein which goes right down the thigh, that orc missed it by less than an inch!”

She puts the plate down and helps Dwalin sit up, pulling him up so he can eat, “And guess what? We’re moving back inside the Mountain today! They think it’s gonna snow tonight.”

Dwalin starts to eat, not realizing until the bacon hits his tongue and he can taste the fat and salt how hungry he is. Ori chatters on, arranging things around him, occasionally helping a few of the other injured dwarves in the tent, bringing blankets or giving them water. He practically inhales his breakfast and is rather thinking of seconds by the time Ori sits down next to him again. She smiles so brightly when she sees his empty plate Dwalin almost feels stronger for it. 

“Oh good! Yer appetite is coming back at least. You can have some more once yer bandages have been changed. I’ll go get Mister Oin…”

She stands to go but Dwalin grabs her hand, holding onto her tight.

“Ori...I love ye lass. So much.”

She smiles back at him, squeezing his hand, “I love you too.”

She steps closer and places his hand on her belly. Even though her thick overcoat and all the layers of clothes she’s wrapped in he feels it, a very faint curve of her stomach which wasn’t there before. 

“Feel that? He’s growing fast. I think he’s gonna be a big ‘un like you.”

And Dwalin smiles, thinking for the first time that Thorin may have been right. 

~*~*~

The first winter after the Battle of Five Armies was long and hard. Cruel, even. The fact that the fledgling colony of Erebor’s only copious resource, apart from mountains of dwarven gold of course, was dried dragon poo did not help matters at all. 

Still, the mountains of gold did prove useful, King Thranduil being given his share of the treasure and finding himself much more inclined toward trade with the Lonely Mountain than he would have been in the past. It was not as if such trade would be exactly draining on the Elven King’s stores either. Although quite a few of Dain’s soldiers were interested in staying behind for the winter and helping assist in the restoration efforts, the vast majority much preferred the idea of spending the long winter with their families rather than banging around a drafty old mountain, and in the end, the inhabitants of Erebor numbered less than a hundred for that season. 

Thorin, in an effort to encourage more to stay, offered generous compensation and positions as officers in the Mountain Guard (when there was enough of a population to warrant such a force), to those who stayed the winter. Those who were already officers in the Iron Hills found this of little incentive, but quite a few of the mercenaries leapt at the chance, one of them in particular.

“I mean, yer lookin’ to add to the family, and it’s just too bloody hard when yer always on the move,” Gheta, the Firebeard warrior who had been Ori’s first patient on the night of the Battle, said with a contemplative tone, scratching at her beard. 

“Oh, very true,” Ori dipped her quill in ink and smoothed over the parchment in front of her, “Now, who’s the letter to?”

“Me husbands. Start it somethin’ nice. Not just ‘dear’, that’s right dull.”

Ori brushed the end of her quill against her bottom lip, “’To my dearest loves’?”

“Ooh, I like that. Alrigh’,” Gheta leant back in her seat, “To me dearest loves, Iusi, Nohl and Harkur. I hope this letter finds you and the little ones well. Tell ‘em Mumma misses them and give ‘em all a big hug from me…I’m not goin’ too fast for ye am I, lass?”

“Oh no, this pace is fine.”

Gheta’s letter continued on in a similar manner. She assured her husbands she was fine but would have a few more scars to show them when she saw them again. She told them of Thorin’s offer and how she thought this was a great opportunity for them, a chance for them to finally settle down in one place and ‘grow the family’ (Ori wasn’t quite sure what Gheta meant by that but it seemed quite important as she was asked to underline it), and though it would be hard (what with three of the children already in school in the Iron Hills), she hoped the four of them could be reunited in the Spring when Dain Ironfoot said he would return to Erebor with as many settlers as would come. 

“And finally, I swear not to marry anyone before ye all get here. On my honour,” Gheta finished, giving a bark of a laugh, shucking Ori on the shoulder, “Nohl’s still never quite forgiven me for comin’ back from the Blue Mountains pregnant and married to young Harkur. They’re thick as thieves now though, always gangin’ up against me.”

She smiled fondly, leaning her chin on her hand, remembering one of their fights no doubt. Ori finished off the letter and indicated where Gheta should leave her mark. Gheta signed and then closed the letter with some of the plain wax Ori had on hand and her worn red seal. 

“Right, how much do I owe ye for this, Missus?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad to be of some help,” Ori waved her off, “They won’t let me help shovel Smaug’s droppin’s after all…”

“And right they are to stop ye! Who knows what sort of nasties are in dragon poo. Yer not just thinkin’ o’ yerself now, after all,” Gheta stood and adjusted her armour, “How’s yer fella doin’, by the by?”

Ori gave a little huff, “He won’t stay bloody still. Just ‘cause he _can_ walk doesn’t mean he should be. He ripped three stitches yesterday and I had to get Mister Oin in to look at him!”

“Ahh, he’s just bored lass. Perhaps if ye stayed in bed with ‘im instead of writing letters for me, he wouldn’t be tryin’ to get out of it.”

“Oh har har,” Ori replied, going bright red over her nose. 

Bloody Firebeards!

~*~*~

The cold months passed slowly. Months of bland food and never enough warmth. Once the wells and plumbing had been restored, heating the mountain proved the next large challenge. At least Smaug’s droppings proved themselves useful for something, though most of them were so old and dry they burned as fast as tinder. 

It was some small blessing that the damage caused by Smaug was relatively quite small. Judging from the trail of destruction, the dragon had simply walked into Erebor, blown a few breaths of fire to scare out the current residents and then headed straight to the treasure hoard. The few times he had left his hoard to blacken the land and hunt for food he had retraced his steps back and forth, probably due to most of the other tunnels being too small for him to fit through, and as such the damage was limited to that one path. 

Most of the residential areas of the Mountain were in quite good condition and really only needed a thorough clean and some redecorating. The fabric of cushions and mattresses and all those nice things had rotted away, but dwarven made furniture is strong and hardy and things like bed frames, chairs and tables, had mostly survived. 

Balin, Dwalin and Ori moved into the tunnels which had been Balin and Dwalin’s home before the fall, the ones Dwalin had shown her on their first days in Erebor. The tunnels went deep into the Mountain, Dwalin and Ori taking the main set of rooms (as they would need the nursery and the larger kitchen) and Balin taking a smaller apartment for his residence. Dori and Nori chose a household just down the road, which caused perhaps a small amount of grumbling from Ori. 

“I thought I’d finally be puttin’ a bit o’ space between us, is all!” she huffed, plopping herself down dramatically on one of the soft armchairs which had just been delivered from Laketown. 

Dwalin lent over and kissed her on the temple, “It’s not like they’re in our pockets, lass. And it’ll be handy when the bairn’s here to have them close by…”

Dwalin’s recovery from his injuries had been neither slow nor fast, though if he were asked about the matter he would tell you it had been “very bloody slow.” Ori had needed to tell him off, then bring Balin in and then, worst of all, bring in Dori to join in the tellings off, more times than either liked to admit for Dwalin trying to walk too soon or too much for his still healing body. 

Ori worked hard with her brothers and Bilbo (who was very firm that he would stay until the baby was born) to make their new homes warm and comfy. She wasn’t quite able to decorate in the style of the late Second Age as she wanted (yet!), but being as there was not much to do apart from lay bundled in bed and knit, Ori soon had enough blankets, throws and knitted cushion covers to make even Bilbo feel homey. 

As winter gave way to spring the caravans start to arrive from Erid Luin. A long train of dwarves making their way to the Mountain, mostly those related to members of the Company and those who had stayed, at the head of them a more ornate caravan carrying Thorin’s sister, the Lady Dis, Gloin’s wife Gridr, and his son Gimli. All of the residents of Erebor’s small community put on their best and waited at the City’s gates for the newcomers to arrive. 

Kili is so excited to see his mother he scrambles up into the caravan carrying her before it has even fully stopped. Joy filled laughter comes from inside, the unmistakable laugh of a woman and Bilbo, as subtly as he can manage, tries to push his way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the newcomers. He is particularly interested in seeing some other dwarf women and wonders if they will be like Ori. 

Thorin and Gloin trot down to the head caravan to help their sister and wife respectively disembark. The first to poke his head out, however, is young Gimli, who takes a flying leap out of the wagon and into his father’s arms, knocking his father onto his back with the force of it. Gloin roars with laughter and hugs his son tight, banging their foreheads together with joy. 

Gridr comes out next, ignoring Thorin’s offered hand and jumping down from the back of the wagon to run over to her husband and son, Gloin pulling himself up and drawing his wife into the embrace. It is a warm scene, and Bilbo cannot help the smile which appears on his face as he watches the reunion. 

Dis embarks last of all, somehow managing to seem very elegant, despite both the long trip and her youngest son clinging to her around her middle. Bilbo looks at her carefully as Thorin embraces her and they start the walk up to the gates. There is a lot similar in their faces, they both have the same regal bearing, those same long noses and piercing eyes. 

She is more handsome than pretty, at least to Bilbo’s hobbit eyes (though he is beginning to count less on those, Ori is apparently a very pretty lass amongst her own people, though hobbits would not see her as such), and the hair on her chin, as jet black as Thorin’s with a little less grey, is oiled and plaited into two long plaits which shine in the morning light. The hair on her head is even more ornate. There is rolls and curls, plaits and braids, strings of pearls, lines of gold thread and gems, and all of it tied together with a thick deep blue ribbon, it seems all very intricate and complicated, and yet such is Dis’ bearing that she makes the whole thing appear almost understated. 

Fili only hangs on to the vestiges of princely dignity a little longer, breaking ranks with the rest of the Company and running down to meet his mother, Dis laughing and holding both of her sons tight, kissing their faces. 

Ori looks down at her hands, encased in her now threadbare mittens and her patchwork clothing. There had been talk after Yule that Thorin would sent to Laketown for a tailor to come to Erebor and have new clothes made for the Company, by which he really meant Ori, whose pregnancy made new clothing more necessary. It had been one of those things though that had quickly fallen to the back of everyone’s minds as they focused on more pressing tasks, like reopening the gold rich eastern mines so they could start trading again, restoring the great Library, and moving several tonnes of dragon poo from the treasure room. 

All of the settlers had been happy to remain in the clothing they had with them, what with so much heavy work and cleaning to be done it seemed a waste to buy new ones, and Ori, though her expanding belly made new clothes more pressing, had not wanted to push something which would only be of benefit to her, and not to the whole community. 

So Ori had made do, pulling apart the better preserved clothing she could find in the upper levels of the city and sewing parts together to make workable garments. Bifur, it turned out, had quite the hand for sewing (lots of practice sewing dolls clothes), and had been very helpful in assisting her put together some makeshift maternity wear. She had been quite proud of the tunic they had put together for today, blue with darker blue trimming, worn under her dusky purple overcoat which now could no longer closer over her stomach. But now, looking at the regal Lady Dis, so elegant and fashionable with her beautifully well kept hair, she feels small and mousy and altogether too _round_ to even be allowed in public. 

Perhaps Dwalin senses this, because he puts an around Ori’s shoulder and kisses her on the temple. Thorin is leading Dis over, Fili and Kili having been distracted by Gimli and a chance to tell their tales to someone who hasn’t heard them before. Ori tries her hardest to sink into Dwalin’s side. If only she’d taken the time to wash her hair this morning and rebraid it, or had shined her boots a little or knitted herself a new scarf…

“Oh! This must be Lady Ori!”

Ori’s hands are suddenly taken in Dis’ and she is forced to look up. Kind, bright blue eyes look back at her. 

“Dain told me all about you, the heroine of the Company! Come, I know I can have the true account of my brother and son’s travels from you. We have much to speak of.”

From there, Ori admits that things are a bit of a blur, Lady Dis pulling her to and fro through the Mountain, showing her all sorts of places it hadn’t occurred to Dwalin to show her. Down one tunnel was where the birthing rooms were, down this one over here the best seamstresses had their shops, the best sweet shop between here and the Iron Hills used be found down this street here... 

Soon Ori finds herself sitting on Dis’s new bed in the rooms Thorin has set aside for her, looking through the cases of clothes Dis has bought with her, trying to see if they can find some proper clothes for Ori in this time of need. 

“I gave away all my maternity dresses after Kili turned 40 but I’m sure we’ll find something that can fit, at least until we get a tailor up from Laketown.”

“It seems like a lot of trouble…” Ori says, picking up something pale peach coloured and silky out of Dis’s ‘night case’ and then quickly shoving it back in. 

“Oh nonsense,” Dis sits up and starts counting off on her fingers, “Thorin owes me a new wardrobe anyway and I know for a fact Gridr wants new things, plus Gimli’s practically bursting out of his seams. Fili and Kili need at least one set of clothing which doesn't smell of sweat and dragon droppings and I don’t care how much they are argue they don't. Besides,” and with that Dis digs her elbow into Ori’s side, “you’re the richest woman in Erebor, you have an example to set.”

They do not find much that will fit Ori in her pregnant state, but true to Dis’ word not four days later a tailor’s cart appears at the gates of Erebor. Ori finds herself pulled from the quiet industry of Balin’s offices in the Library and into the closed off room where the tailor and his assistants have set up in. 

A large table has been set up in the room, books of sample clothing all set up in rows, tiny swatches of fabric pinned to the pages to show which fabrics were suitable for which garments. Along the back of the table were a series of fashion dolls showing some popular styles of clothing, mostly dresses and blouses and skirt sets since the tailor had been told he would be catering to the dwarrowdams of Erebor. 

Ori smiles and touches one of the hands of the faceless dolls, she had owned one similar many years ago, an old one Dori had bought from a tailor in one of the towns they lived in. He had painted a pretty face on it, added some facial hair to its cheeks, and Ori had treasured it, naming her Poppet and declaring her queen over all her other homemade fabric and wool dolls, sewing a whole wardrobe of clothes for her from scraps of fabric from her mother’s and Dori’s sewing. 

“Ah! You’re here,” Dis grabs Ori’s hand and pulls her over to a soft couch which had been set up at the other end of the table, “I’m writing up a list of what you need so once Gimli’s finished we have something to work with.”

Ori looks over to where the tailor, a small round human man with a perfectly waxed black moustache and tiny silver spectacles perched on the end of his nose, is measuring Gimli (who looks distinctly displeased with this turn of events) and taking orders from Gridr about length, colour, style, and form of the clothing her son requires. 

“Here, there’s a whole book dedicated to maternity wear, have a look through and see if there’s anything that you like. Now, at a bare minimum you need three day dresses, but I like to have four or five in rotation, makes it easier on the washing, or you might like to have some blouses and over skirts to fill things out if you prefer. You’ll need one or two more formal outfits for banquets, parties and the like, and at least one Court dress, these are in this book here…”

And with that Dis places another heavy volume of fashion plates on top of the one Ori is already holding, the younger woman’s eyes going wide. 

“Court dress?”

“Well…yes dear. You will be expected to attend Court with Dwalin at least a few times a month, he’s never been one much for ceremony but his brother won’t always be able to give excuses for the two of you. It’ll have to be in burgundy as well, I’m afraid, that is the Fundin House colour.”

Ori lets out a long breath. She was sure, at some point, it would sink in with her that she was now the wife of a Lord. 

Not one to let her dwell on such things, Dis places one last book on top of all the others, the title of this one ‘Intimate Apparels And Night Wares.’

“Oh, I don’t need too much of this…” Ori says, on firmer footing here, “Dori’s been knitting me unders since I was little…”

“Really…” Dis looks skeptical, “What does he knit you?”

“Well…the usual things I suppose, they’re long, they keep me warm,” She opens up the book on her lap and flicks through the pages, “Oh, they’re rather like this…”

Dis looks down at the picture Ori points out, a set of simple, long knitted underwear which could be worn by both genders but was most commonly worn by children. She looks back up at Ori and raises an eyebrow.

“That’s all?”

Ori fiddles with the edge of her tunic, “Well…I had some petticoats for under me dresses…and socks of course. Dori knitted them too…”

Dis leans in closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, “You mean you’ve never worn breast stays? Or any kind of girdle? No stockings?”

Ori gives Dis a half smile and a shrug as an answer, going pink in the cheeks. 

Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear. It was worse than Dis thought. Still, thinking about it, she isn’t really surprised. Balin had told her Ori had been raised mostly by her eldest brother, her mother dying before Ori was in her forties. The only person the young lass would have had to go to as her body grew and changed would have been her brother…

Dis thought of herself in the awkward years of her early 50’s; they were a hard enough time as it was, and she had had a mother and her friendship with Gridr to comfort her! She briefly tried to imagine going to Thorin to ask for stays or menstrual cloths, the thought was at once horrifying and hilarious (definitely more on the horrifying side though). 

She smiled warmly at young Ori, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, “Don’t fret, cousin. I’m going to take care of everything.”


	18. Chapter 18

Within a week after the appointment with the tailor two large ceder chests are delivered to Ori and Dwalin’s chambers. Dwalin chuckles, finishing his morning coffee and breakfast as Ori buzzes around them, running her hands over the chests, not yet daring to open them. 

“What’s all this, lass?” he asks, taking a sip of some thick black coffee, the stuff which was popular in Laketown. 

“New clothes,” Ori says, bouncing in one place with excitement as she finally opens one of the chests, looking down at the tissue wrapped fabrics with something akin to reverence. 

“Ahh, that’s nice love. You’ve needed some pretty new things.”

He gives her a kiss as he gets ready to leave for the day, he is training up volunteers from Dain’s troops to be the new city guard, and nods to Nori, who often likes to drop in for breakfast, “Make sure she eats something, will ye?”

Nori nods and tempts Ori back to the table with a plate of toast and bacon. 

After breakfast Ori finally dares put on some of her new clothes, starting with the new undergarments in soft white linen with purple ribbon and her seal embroidered onto them. Then, with a little wiggling (and a little help from Nori to get the final parts done up), she manages to get on her favourite dress from those she'd had made. It’s a little simpler than the others, and in her favourite colour, lavender. 

She ties the little belt which matches, designed to sit above her waist to make room for her growing stomach, and turns to look at herself in the mirror. She brushes her hands over the fine purple wool and blinks. Well…it is certainly more bosom than she usually shows…hell, it’s more bosom that she’s ever _had_! Dori will most certainly not approve, but Dis had said this was all the rage in Erid Luin, and Dis was certainly very respectable. 

“Ye look beautiful petal,” Nori says, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “Now, I gotta be off, you want me ta walk you to Balin’s office?”

“Hmm?” Ori had been distracted by her appearance in the mirror again, “Oh…oh no, I’ve got a day off. I might…I might visit Lady Dis.”

Nori thinks this is a nice idea and says his good byes, off to do whatever shady things Thorin has him doing to ensure the safety of their new home. Ori puts on her apron and washes up from breakfast, taking her time to admire how the fine wool moves and drapes so beautifully over her body even while doing something as simple as sweeping the kitchen floor. On closer examination of the dress she sees all sorts of clever little gathers and pleats hiding extra fabric, designed so that as she expands, the dress will as well. It’s rather ingenious really!

Then she moves back into the living room, going through the chests some more and thinking she’ll have to order a chest of draws for all her new things from down in Laketown. She is just examining her new nightgowns (oh, and there is even more bosom to be seen wearing these, if the pictures in the book Dis showed her were anything to go by) when a thick cream envelope addressed to her falls out from amongst the clothing. 

She opens it and instantly sees it is the tailor’s bill. Oh well, that was inevitable she supposes. She unfolds the thick parchment and turns over the various itemised charges until she gets to the bottom of the invoice. 

Her eyes go wide. 

Merciful Mahal! She had just spent on clothes roughly what Dori used to make in a year! She is so shocked she almost drops the papers but quickly grabs them tighter to her chest. She pants, eyes looking closely at the two chests. Maybe it is not too late to send them back…she would have to keep what she is wearing now, but at least the bill would be manageable. Oh, but what if the tailor is one of those merchants who will not take returns, tailors often didn’t since their goods were custom made. 

She must see Lady Dis! She will know what to do! Yes! Dis will know how to deal with this matter. 

Barely 10 minutes later, Dis looks up at Ori with a wry, indulgent smile over the top of the bill, “This is what was so urgent?”

Ori paces in front of the fire, wringing her hands, “Do ye not see the total? How much I’ve spent!”

“Honestly, I think he treated you quite well. Look…he’s only charged you materials for your nightwear…though to be honest I think he overcharged for the burgundy dress but that’s just me. And see here, he says if you come back to him once the baby is born for another wardrobe he’ll discount his charges by 15%!”

Ori kept pacing, looking as pale as death, not comforted by Dis’ words. 

“Oh, sit down cousin, all this worrying cannot be good for the baby,” Dis pours a cup of tea as Ori takes her place in a plush arm chair next to Dis in the parlour. 

“What’s Dwalin gonna think when he sees it?”

Dis shrugs, “If you don’t want him to see it, don’t show him. Mahal above, I didn’t go running to my dear Firi every time I had a bill to pay, I just paid it. Goodness knows cousin, you’ve got enough money to buy a thousand new wardrobes if that was what you wished.”

Ori blinks at that. Dis is right. Very right! She is a very wealthy woman. One of the heroes of Erebor! And if she wants pretty new clothes and to pay for them herself, she shall have them and do so! 

She feels much better after that, and even invites Dis back to her chambers to look over the clothes with her. Dis agrees they are very fine, that the colours were well chosen, and shows her how to do up a few of the more complex dresses without assistance. 

After Dis leaves Ori pulls out a white, knitted shawl (a Yule gift from Dori) and her basket and heads down to the vaults with her bill to arrange payment. That taken care of (and feeling much better for it) Ori wanders back up to the main city. The initial train of settlers had brought with it a few merchants, they and some merchants from Laketown had set up their stalls in one of the old halls, creating the starts of a little market. 

She stops at a few of the stalls and picks up some sausages and a fresh loaf of bread for lunch. She also stops by the sweet stall (a very welcome addition, in Ori’s mind) and buys a bag of caramels, the last few nights she has been waking with her mouth watering for them and would rather not send Dwalin out past midnight to bang on the sweet maker’s door…again. 

By then it is getting close to lunch and she decides to wander down to the training areas to see if Dwalin would like to join her for lunch. 

A familiar silhouette is sitting in front of the entrance, her heavy boots propped up on a table in front of her. Gheta smiles and stands when she sees Ori approaching. 

“Well, well, new things, Lady Ori?”

“Do you think it looks alright?” Ori turns to the side, giving the skirt a flick, “I really like the colour.”

“Ah, ye look lovely. That pale purple’s good on you, I never could pull it off meself,” Gheta turns and yells into the guard house she's sitting in front of, “NHETA, NHETA LASS, COME OUT AND SAY GOOD MORN TO LADY ORI!”

“WHA?” came an equally loud voice from inside. 

“PUT THA’ AXE DOWN AND COME SAY HELLO. AND BRING THOSE SCONES PA MADE!”

“They’re rock cakes.” A red haired young woman comes out of the guard house, cake tin clutched under one arm and wiping grease from her fingertips on the bottom of her tunic. Her height and broad shoulders mark her clearly as a Firebeard, if her close resemblance to her mother didn’t already, just from the sight of her. 

She looked to be in her early 50’s, wearing the loose pants and sleeveless tunic which seemed (from Ori’s limited knowledge of the Firebeards) to be very popular among the women of that clan. She gives a quick bow to Ori as she puts the tin on the table, opening it and offering Ori a rock cake. 

“This here’s me eldest, Nehta. Nheta, this is young Lady Ori,” Gheta gives her daughter a significant look over a rock cake. 

“Oh! This is the one you-” Nheta stops mid sentence, her Mother making a throat cutting motion over her neck, then starting again, “…the one you mentioned.” Nheta bows again, deeper this time, “Nheta, daughter of Gheta, at your service, my Lady.”

“Ori, daughter of Rhias, at yours,” Ori bows back, taking an offered rock cake and nibbling at it, not quite catching Gheta’s signalling. 

“Nheta love, go an’ find Mister Dwalin for us. Unless yer down here to practice yer axe work, Missus?”

“Oh no, just checkin’ to see if Dwalin wants to come home for lunch, I found some nice sausage down at the market.”

“Ah, yer so sweet,” Gheta gives Ori an indulgent smile, “Iusi packs lunches for the lot of us, I think he just likes us out o’ the house durin’ the day though. He’s got his hands full with Tarkur and little Rohl after all.”

“They’re your youngest children?”

“Aye. Tarkur’s 16 and Rohl’s not even walkin’ much yet. There’s Gher, he’s 28 and Nusi at 40 between ‘em.”

Ori rubs a hand over her stomach. So many children! She supposes it must be easier when you have three husbands to help you with them, but still, it seemed like an awful lot of people to have to look after. She’s worried enough about looking after one…

“How’s everyone settling in in your new house?” Ori asks. She’d pushed Balin to assign Gheta’s family one of the larger settler’s households, she just wasn’t sure how many bedrooms they’d need. Did each husband get his own room? Did they all sleep in one big bed (now there’s a thought)? Was there some sort of rotation system, like the shift workers down in the mines…

“Ori lass, are ye alright?” Dwalin runs up from the tunnel leading down to the training grounds, Nheta on his heels, limping slightly on his left leg when he slowed to a walk. 

“What are ya doin’ running? You promised Oin and me if ya went back to work you’d take it easy,” Ori huffs, putting her hands on his hips. 

“I was…worried…” he says, giving a wince and leaning against the guard house wall, “It’s a long walk…” he puffs and takes a moment to catch his breath, “…is that some of yer new clothes?”

Ori tsks and rolls her eyes, “Come on, yer comin’ home for lunch.”

After a hearty lunch of sausage, thick cut bread with butter, pickles, onion and some very nice cheese, all washed down with a few mugs of ale, Dwalin decides to take the afternoon off. He feels his time would be well spent inspecting all of Ori’s new clothes with her…making sure they fit as they should, that she hasn’t been twiced by that tailor…

After a very thorough inspection (in which Dwalin decides he very much approves of Ori’s new underclothes) they lay in bed, Dwalin running a hand over Ori’s round belly. She rolls over onto her side and looks at the new scar running down Dwalin’s thigh. It’s healed, but still pink and new looking and she knows it still gives him pain. 

“I wish you’d take it a bit easier on yerself. I worry about you.”

He grunts and tightens his arm over her shoulder, “Yer one to speak. Wanderin’ all over the Mountain without anyone to look after ye. Half the paths around here need to be restored, ye could slip an’ fall, hurt yerself…”

“I’ve killed wargs and goblins and spiders with your warhammer and you’re worried about me trippin’?” Ori gives a chuckle, no real menace in her voice (she’s feeling far too content and fuzzy to really gripe). 

“I worry about ye a lot, lass. About you, about the bairn, about the birthin’…” he drifts off, his hand keeps moving in slow circles over her belly. He can feel his child move around inside her now, can sometimes feel it tapping and kicking against Ori’s skin. The movements are always strong, which speaks well of the child but he still worries about Ori. So many dwarrowdams die birthing, and Ori is so small, in height and stature, though she has filled out will with the pregnancy…

“I’m scared o’ the birth too,” Ori says, voice suddenly nervous, “Lady Dis says she took three days to have Fili but then Kili was out in just an afternoon. Gridr told me she was on the pot when she started with Gimli and she had to give birth right then and there on the toilet he was so fast comin’!”

Dwalin chuckles, he knew that story well, everyone in the Iron Hills did. Get a few ales into Gridr and she’d tell you the story herself.

“And then Oin dropped Gimli on his head!” Ori pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking Dwalin in the eye, “Promise you won’t let Oin drop our baby when he comes? Please?”

Dwalin smiles and kisses her, “I swear. No baby droppin’. Even if I have ta string up a little net under yer bottom or put molasses on his hands.”

“That paints a comforting picture…” Ori rolls her eyes, laying back down, “And…promise ye won’t let me have the baby on the toilet. I don’t want the first baby born in Erebor to be born while I’m tryin’ to wee.”

Dwalin laughs outright at that, Ori joining him eventually at the image her words paint. 

“Alrigh’, alrigh…” Dwalin gasps, wiping a tear off his face, “No droppin’ and no toilet births. I swear to ya.”

~*~*~

Dori grunts a good morning as Nori wanders in from checking the morning mail, taking a long sip of his tea. He turns the page on a book of baby knitting patterns he’d found last week in the Library, looking for patterns for baby cardigans, maybe something with a little hood. Ori had had this little hooded jumper as a baby which had looked so sweet…

“Mail’s here,” Nori says, putting the letters down on the table in front of Dori. 

“That’s nice…” Dori murmurs absently, still looking through his book. There were patterns for baby jumpers and patterns for baby caps, but not really anything that combined the two. Hmm…perhaps he could draft something himself…

Nori rolls his eyes, “I’ll see what’s here then.”

He flicks through the letters, “There’s one from some cousins on your Da’s side, probably lookin’ to move back ‘ere. Bit bloody rich of them if you’re askin’ me. This one’s for me…this looks like the butcher’s bill…oh! And what’s this?”

Nori affected faux surprise as he looked a cream and gold edged envelope, “Well…doesn’t this look like Mister Balin’s stationary…and addressed to you as well…”

Dori finally paid attention, making a grab for the letter, “Give that to me!”

“He’s got such a lovely hand, does our Mister Balin,” Nori spins away from Dori, holding the letter out in front of himself and examining it, “Can’t be an official invitation, otherwise I’d’ve been invited meself or Ori would’a mentioned something. Whatever can it be?”

“Nori! You give that here right now!”

There is a brief struggle, Nori coming very close to ending with his head in the sink, before Dori wrestles the letter out of his brother’s hands. He stalks back to the table, holding the note tight to his chest. 

Nori smooths over his head, making sure his hair is still in place before sauntering back over to the table. Dori pointedly does not open the letter, making a show of going back to his tea and kippers, flicking through the knitting book in front of him. 

“That’s the second note you’ve gotten from ‘im…” Nori says after a while, refilling the kettle and putting it on to boil. 

“Is it?” Dori’s voice is very high, “I haven’t been keeping track.”

There’s silence in the kitchen for a while. Nori eventually sighs and comes back to the table. 

“You gonna write back?”

Dori huffs, “That is absolutely none of your business!”

“Augh Dori!” Nori drops his head down on the table. That just meant Dori _wasn’t_ going to. Again. Another suitor sent on his way. And Nori actually liked Balin, he was a decent enough fella and conveniently only lived down the road.

“Who I write or don’t write isn’t your concern,” Dori closes the knitting book with finality, as if he could end the conversation the same way, “It’s just not a good time for…for that sort of thing.”

“It’s never a bloody good time for you! How is it not a good time?”

“We’re trying to rebuild the Mountain, Nori, if you haven’t noticed. There are mines to reopen, things to clean, settlers to…settle. Besides, Ori needs me…” Dori gets up, taking the book and his letter with him. 

“Ohhhh no. Don’t you use Ori this time,” Nori was not so easily put off, following him down the hall. “She’s a grown woman, Dori. She’s got her own life, her own house, and she’s doin’ pretty well with it if ye haven’t noticed.”

“She’s expecting her first! She needs someone to look after her. Lord knows, Dwalin wouldn’t…”

“Dwalin is doing just that, if ye opened your eyes and looked. Him and everyone else under the bloody Mountain. Dori…listen to me!” Nori intercepts his brother in front of his bedroom, making him pay attention, “You give me one good reason why ye won’t write back and go to dinner or for a weekend down in Dale or whatever it is he’s asking ye to do with him and I promise I’ll leave it alone. Just one good reason…”

Dori huffs and tsks, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, but doesn’t manage to come up with anything (and Nori gave him a good long while). Dori expects Nori to gloat but instead his younger brother just leans back against the heavy wood of the door. 

“Dori, you’ve given up a lot for Ori and me over the years. Mahal knows, you raised Ori, she’s yer _child_ as much as she’s our sister and I certainly never made things easy for ya. But she’s grown up now, we’ve all got more money than we know what ta do with, and ye’ll be pleased to know I’ve even been talked into a relatively honest line o’ work by Mister King Under the Mountain.”

“So I’m not wanted anymore, is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” Nori holds up his index finger, “What I’m sayin’ is we’re finally in a place where you can take a little time for yourself. What about that tea house you always wanted to open? Go talk to Thorin, he’s parceling out a lot of the shop fronts down near the Market this week, he’ll give you whichever one ye point at.”

Dori doesn't reply, looking down at his book again and the letter held against the cover of it. Nori gives it a tap, getting Dori’s attention again. 

“And write back to Balin, or go see ‘im. Durin’s beard, if it’s one thing ye bloody need it’s a good tupping.”

And with that and a quick laugh Nori finally relinquishes his hold over Dori’s bedroom door. Dori storms inside, slamming the door behind him. Bloody Nori! What did he know? It was none of his business anyway! 

Dori puts both the book and letter down on his writing desk and sits down on his bed. He’d ordered a double mattress from down from Laketown though he wasn’t sure why now. He certainly had no intentions of sharing it with anyone. 

Dori flops onto his bed. He’d had suitors, many, many years ago, it felt like an Age ago sometimes. There’d been that butcher with the deep brown beard he could almost tuck into his belt, the miner with the roguish smile…what had been his name? Oh, it didn’t really matter now. He’d said goodbye to all of that sweaty business when Ori was born. He hadn't had time for companionship, what with his little sister to fuss over, and as for the physical side of things…well…

Dori rolls over, looking away from the letter. It was none of Nori’s business anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up if you've been personally victimized by the amazing fics "Not in Gold" and "No Going Back" *raises hand*. 
> 
> I love both these fics but they're hurting me and Dori so much so I've decided this is going to be the fic where Dori gets to be ridiculously happy, we're not quite there this chapter, but events have been put in motion! 
> 
> Notes about Gheta, for clarity's sake: As mentioned last chapter, she has three husbands, Iusi, Nohl and Harkur, and five children, Nheta is her oldest and wants to be just like her mum. It's generally considered rude in Firebeard society to ask which children are by which husband. Of all the dwarven clans, Firebeards have the least women, for some reason girls just don't get born, so they're the only clan which openly practices polyandry. Note I say openly, there are rumours there are some Broadbeams which practice it as well...perhaps more on that in later chapters...


	19. Chapter 19

Ori settled back into a large cushiony lounge seat in front of Bombur’s cheery fire, slipping off her boots and propping her feet up on a foot stool. She wriggled her toes inside her thick woollen socks. Ooh, her feet did get sore these days, swelling up inside her boots so much her skin felt like it was two sizes too small. Even short walks were becoming trying as she entered her ninth month of pregnancy, and Ori had been very grateful when Bombur and his lovely wife Pfaff had offered Ori lunch with the family after she had popped in on her way back from the Market. 

Now fed and a little more rested, Ori had been told by Pfaff to make herself comfortable in front of the fire and they’d bring her out ‘just a little something’ for dessert. 

She turned at the sound of someone scrabbling up on the lounge beside her. A messy haired, chubby little boy had appeared on the seat, looking up at her with bright brown eyes. He couldn’t be a day over fifteen and she remembered he’d mostly sat on Uncle Bofur’s lap through lunch. 

He sat on his knees next to her on the couch, and placed a hand on the high point of Ori’s stomach.

“There’s a baby in there,” he announced, petting her stomach gently. 

“That’s right!” Ori smoothed down some of the little fellow’s hair, “What do ya think it’s gonna be? A little girl or a little boy like you?”

The little boy chewed at his bottom lip, evidently giving the question some serious thought, “I reckon…” he waved his head from side to side, “I reeeeeeeeckon…a girl!”

“Really? Girls are pretty rare. You have ta be real lucky to get a baby girl your first go…”

The little boy considered this carefully, but was interrupted in his thoughts by his mother bustling into the sitting room. 

“Potur love, don’t bother Lady Ori when she’s restin’. Go play with yer brother and let the grown ups have a little chat.”

“But I want a slice ‘o cake too…” Potur slid off the couch, toddling over to Pfaff and clinging to her apron, burying his face in her skirts.

“Da’s cuttin’ you an’ Urat a nice big slice each right now in the kitchen. You better hurry or yer brother’ll eat your bit before ya get there!”

That was all it took to send Potyr scrambling from the room towards the kitchen, his mother chuckling as she handed Ori a thick slice of Bombur’s (already famous throughout the Mountain) apple upside down cake with lashings of clotted cream on the side. 

Ori tucked in as Pfaff settled her ample frame down the chair next to the lounge, Bombur and Bofur joining them once the children had been settled in the nursery. They chatted for a while, favoured topics of conversation being Ori’s pregnancy, friends and family who were planning to move to Erebor, when the next merchant train from Laketown was expected, Mister Baggins’ latest doings…

“Where is Mister Bilbo?” Ori asked. He’d been living with the Ur Family since the Company had all separated into their separate households, perhaps finding Bombur’s cooking and the homey way he and Pfaff kept their household the most hobbit-like existence he could have under the Mountain. 

…It could also be how close he and Bofur had become in recent months. Ori had felt quite sad when it had become clear in the months after the Battle of Five Armies, that whatever had been developing between Bilbo and Thorin (and whether there really _had_ been anything developing at all apart from some longing glances over the fire was a subject of heated debate among various members of the Company) had appeared to have come to its natural conclusion. 

Whether it was the fact that what had been could not be rebuilt after Thorin’s behaviour leading up to the Battle, or whether it was simply finding that they did not mesh as well when not living in the odd circumstances of life on the road, Ori supposed that it was for the best. It was plain to everyone that even now, Bilbo longed for the Shire and the company of other Halflings, and Thorin could not and would not leave his reclaimed Kingdom. It was probably ‘evidence of Mahal’s divine providence’, as Oin would say, that things had not worked out. 

“Bilbo’s up top,” Bofur pointed to the ceiling, indicating Bilbo was on the surface of the Mountain, “Workin’ on his herb garden. I packed ‘im a lunch.”

Bombur chuckled at that, nudging his brother in the side, “Of course you did. Gotta look after _dear_ Mister Bilbo…”

“Shut up Bom,” Bofur hissed, digging his elbow into Bombur’s side in return and turning quite red. This of course only made Bombur laugh harder. 

Bofur was saved from further embarrassment by a knock on the door, getting up to answer it. Pfaff rolled her eyes at Bombur. 

“I wish you wouldn’t tease.”

“I’m his brother, it’s part o’ the job description.”

Bofur came back into the sitting room, a lean dwarrow with a long single plait of blonde hair hanging down his back, his beard braided similarly, trailing after him. 

“Bom, Pfaff, look who’s come to visit…again,” Bofur said, voice light, “It’s Mister Nohl.”

“Oh Mister Nohl, good to see you again,” Bombur stood, offering Nohl a seat which the lean dwarf took, bowing to Ori and Pfaff as he did so.

“And good to see you all as well. Lady Ori, you’re looking so well, you glow like opal in the dimmest light.”

“Yer too kind, Mister Nohl,” Ori bowed her head in return. Now, this was an interesting development. What was Gheta’s second husband doing calling on the Ur Family…?

“I speak only the truth.” Nohl gave one of his small smiles and turned his attention to Bombur, “I was wondering if your cousin was at home?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ori saw Pfaff shift in her seat, the woman’s dessert spoon tapping down against her plate with perhaps a touch more force than needed. 

Bombur, on the other hand, showed no signs of displeasure, “Ah, I’m afraid not, Mister Nohl. He’s on his shift with the Guard.”

Nohl inclined his head in understanding, “More’s the pity. If you could perhaps pass on these letters to him when he comes home, it would be much appreciated,” Nohl reached inside his coat and pulled out two neatly folded and sealed letters, placing them on the small table between the two lounge chairs. 

“We’ll be sure ta pass ‘em on,” Bofur said with a smile, “Could we tempt ya with a slice o’ cake, Mister Nohl? There’s plenty in the kitchen…”

“Oh no, no, I won’t take up any more of your time,” Nohl stood and bowed deeply once again, “I have to be getting back home in any case. If you would pass my spouses’ and I’s regards to Mister Bifur…”

“Of course, of course…” Bombur stood as Nohl did, leaving to show him to the door. 

As soon as the door leading out to the hall had closed, Pfaff snatched up the letters from the table, holding them up to the light of the fire to try and see through them. 

“Bofur, go grab me letter opener from the side table there, I reckon I can slide it under the wax…”

“Pfaff, no!” Bofur groaned, “It’s none ‘o our business!”

“Bollocks it isn’t!” Pfaff got up and started to root through the side table herself, “He’s _your_ cousin, I dunno why I’m the only one here who’s just a mite concerned Bifur’s bein’ courted by a woman who’s already married… _three times over _!”__

__Bombur came back into the sitting room and sighed when he saw what Pfaff was doing, “Dumplin’ please…leave it be.”_ _

__“Don’t ‘dumplin’’ me! I just wanna see if it’s a proposal or anythin’ permanent like tha’.”_ _

__Bombur gave a shake of his head and plopped himself back into his seat on the couch next to Ori. He leaned over to her, speaking conspiratorially, “Ye’ll have ta forgive Pfaff, Ori love. The Way is a sensitive subject for her.”_ _

__“Aye. Her grandma had a lot o’ love to give,” Bofur added, lighting his pipe since he was finished with his cake._ _

__“Oh hush, the both o’ you!” Pfaff found her jewelled letter opener and started, with extreme care, to try and slide the sharp edge under the wax seals of the letters, trying to separate them from the paper without leaving any sign of tampering._ _

__“I wouldn’t mind so much if we was livin’ back in tha Blue Mountains. There’s more Firebeards there, more plygs at any rate,” Pfaff stood up and pointed her opener at Bombur and Bofur, “But this here’s a Longbeard Mountain, and don’ ye pretend it isn’t!”_ _

__Ori sunk a little lower into her chair, suddenly feeling like she was party to a conversation she really shouldn’t be. She was an educated woman, she knew the history. The Longbeard push against the Way had started with Nain I. The taking of plural husbands had only ever been outright banned amongst her own people, the Firebeards in return outright thumbing their noses at such an edict._ _

__The Broadbeams, who largely relied upon the mines owned by wealthy Longbeards for work, were another story…_ _

__Bombur leant his head on his hand, “Ye know, Missus Gheta’s oldest is about the same age as Kifur would’a been now…”_ _

__“And that’s another thing!” Pfaff made another stabbing motion with the letter opener, “He’s thinkin’ about this, considerin’ it properly! And make no mistake that young lass is a big part o’ why he’s even thinkin’ about it!”_ _

__“Can ye blame ‘im?” Bofur asked._ _

__“Well o’ course not! If I lost me family tha’ way…” Pfaff shuddered, “It doesn’t bear thinkin’ about. But I’m just worried he’s usin’ this to try and put a plaster over a wound tha’ goes much deeper.”_ _

__Pfaff stopped at where she was still trying to separate wax from paper, holding her hand over her eyes._ _

__“Oh dumplin’…” Bombur stood and went over to his wife, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, she turning and burying her face in his shoulder._ _

__Much later in the afternoon, Ori sat in Gridr’s kitchen, head over the basin as Gridr’s strong hands massaged jasmine scented shampoo into her scalp, and played what she had seen at Bombur’s house over in her mind._ _

__“Well, I think it’s a good thing,” Dis said from where she sat by the wide kitchen fireplace, only in her chemise and stays to the waist and a towel over her shoulders, combing her fingers through her own wet hair to help it dry, “Missus Gheta’s a good woman, her husbands are all very respectable fellows, if Bifur wants to practice the Way he is well within his rights to do so.”_ _

__“Do you think Thorin’ d mind?” Ori asked into the sink, Gridr turning on the tap and cupping warm water over her the young woman’s head._ _

__Dis tilted her head, thinking, “I’m not sure. He’s never been overly fussed with ruling over people’s bedrooms…keeping food on our table was enough for him most of the time. And besides, if Mister Bifur did want to marry Missus Gheta Thorin wouldn’t be able to stop him, he is ruled by the laws of the Broadbeams when it comes to personal matters, not our own.”_ _

__“I suppose…it can’t be easy though,” Pfaff’s words from earlier playing over in Ori’s mind, “We…Longbeards I mean…we’re the ones who pushed against the Way to begin with, and we haven’t always been so ‘live and let live’ about it, have we?”_ _

__“No denying that…” Gridr mused. She picked up a bottle of warmed oil and started pouring it through Ori’s hair, then wrapped a damp, steaming towel around her head, “There we go, over by the fire now. I’ll have Mister Dwalin and Dori both after me if ye catch a chill.”_ _

__Ori pulled over a stool and sat in front of the fire, pulling the towel over her bare shoulders tighter. Dis ran a comb through her own hair, a contemplative look on her face._ _

__“No…I suppose we could have been better about the whole thing,” she said eventually, “Still…the Mountain offers a chance to start anew, make things better than they were. Perhaps we should visit Missus Gheta, Gridr, what do you think?”_ _

__Gridr chuckled, already undoing the buttons on her dress and pulling pins out of her own hair, “We’ll take three cakes, one for each husband.”_ _

__Discussion of which cake would be best for which husband was cut short by Gimli’s entrance to the kitchen, the young lad slapping a hand over his eyes and groaning dramatically when he saw his Mother and her friend’s states of undress._ _

__“Auuugh, Mum! What’re ye doin’?”_ _

__“What do ye think? It’s hair washing day. I told ye we’d need the kitchen for it today.”_ _

__“Can ye not wash yer hair with yer clothes on!?”_ _

__“And ruin a perfectly good new dress and catch a chill besides? Oh yes, that’s a fine plan,” Gridr put her hands on her hips, her impressive bosom thrust out in front of her, “What did ye want boy? Apart from groanin’ at yer poor mother.”_ _

__“Da wants to know where his good whetstone is.”_ _

__“Right where he left in on the cabinet in the bedroom.”_ _

__“He said he already looked there.”_ _

__“Try the second draw on the cabinet in the sitting room, I put a few things away in there.”_ _

__“Alrigh’…wha’s for dinner?_ _

__“Pork. Now scoot, we got work to do here.”_ _

__Gimli, hand still pressed firmly over his eyes, turned roughly to face Dis and Ori and bowed deeply to them, “Lady Dis, Lady Ori, good day.”_ _

__“Good day, Gimli,” Dis said with a chuckle as Gimli backed out of the room, almost tripping on the woodpile on his way out, “Ah, he’s a good lad.”_ _

__“Oh aye, he is,” Gridr pulled the last pins out of her hair, her masses of thick chestnut hair falling all the way down to her waist (of all of them, only Dis’ hair was longer, her black hair so long she could sit on it when it was undone) and started unbraiding the jewels from her beard._ _

__In her youth, Gridr had been known all the way to Erid Mithrin as the most beautiful woman in the Blue Mountains and even now, Ori could see why. The hair on both her head and chin was thick and lustrous, her nose long and mouth plump. She had the wide hips and heavy breasts Ori would have given her left hand for as a young girl. It was certainly no surprise she had ended up with such a fine figure as Mister Gloin._ _

__“Now, Ori love, what are we gonna do with your hair?” Gridr asked, running her fingers through her beard to loosen the braids._ _

__“I’m not really sure...just somthin’ simple I think. It’s not really long enough yet to do anything complicated with…”_ _

__“Ah yer young anyway, simple suits ye. Alrigh’, come over here and we’ll rinse tha’ oil out.”_ _

__~*~*~_ _

__Dori was just going to talk to Mister Balin. Yes, that’s the plan. He would just speak to him and explain to him that he was very flattered by the attention, and Mister Balin was, without a doubt, a very fine dwarrow, but now was simply not a good time for such a thing. What with the baby on the way and so much work to be done, it just wasn’t!_ _

__Even if Mister Balin was such a handsome dwarrow…and so nice and polite. And he’d been so welcoming to Ori since her marriage to Dwalin, when there were many others who would’ve been much less pleased with their brother’s marrying someone of Ori’s questionable parentage._ _

__And he did like tea…Dori knew that. In Laketown they had often shared a few cups together in the morning, both before and after Ori and Dwalin’s impromptu wedding, and even recently, Balin often popped in if Dori was visiting Ori for elevensies…and the two families did have dinner together at least a few times a week…in fact Dori had to acknowledge he had been seeing an awful lot of Mister Balin since the wedding._ _

__Perhaps that had been the reason for Mister Balin’s sudden letter writing campaign. They had grown closer in recent months, with all the excitement of a baby on the way perhaps Dori had been a little less reserved than he normally would have been. Balin may have mistaken that for interest on Dori’s part…which couldn’t be further from the truth! Dori wasn’t interested at all! Not in the least! No matter what Nori said._ _

__Not even just a little!_ _

__No, not the tiniest bit! Dori certainly didn’t admire Balin’s fine snowy beard, still so thick despite Balin’s age, or his mischievous smile, or the way his eyes twinkled when he teased…_ _

__Dori took a deep breath, chasing those _unnecessary_ thoughts out of his mind. He made three firm knocks on the heavy door to Balin’s rooms then waited. He didn’t have to stand outside long, he heard some moving around inside and then the door was thrown open, Mister Balin behind it, as impeccably dressed and groomed as he always was. _ _

__“Mister Dori!” Balin said, inclining his head, “What a lovely surprise…do come in!”_ _

__Dori hesitated over the threshold. This may not be the best idea…he should just hand Balin’s letters back, tell him this has all been a misunderstanding and be on his way. He didn’t want anyone, Balin especially, getting _ideas_ about things. _ _

__…Not that there were any ideas for anyone to get. Absolutely not!_ _

__“Come along, Mister Dori, you’re letting the heat out,” Balin smiled that charming smile of his, “I’ve just put on a fresh pot of chamomile…”_ _

__Dori’s hands clenched around the letters he held. Well…there was probably no harm in it. Mister Balin was nothing if not completely respectable…_ _

__~*~*~_ _

__Ori gently tapped her fingers to the painted edges of the final page of the book she had been restoring. Dry…finally. She had been working on this tome, a beautifully illustrated record of the life and reign of Durin IV, for almost a month, painstakingly restoring the gilt edgings, tracing over the faded letters where needed and, her favourite, though the most time consuming part, of restoration work, repainting the large illustrations which grew around the first letter of each chapter._ _

__She wrapped the book in a piece of fabric and picked it up to take it to show Balin. She was particularly pleased with the final illustration she had been working on, an image of Durin IV’s legendary battle with a stone dragon. Of course, she could wait until the morning when she went to the Library to show him, but she felt so proud of her work on this book she simply couldn’t wait._ _

__Ori traveled down the halls to Balin’s rooms, clutching her book tightly to her chest. She knocked quickly on Balin’s front door, she knew he would be home, he usually was at this time of the afternoon. There was quite a bit of shuffling around inside before the door opened._ _

__One can well imagine Ori’s surprise when it was not Mister Balin but her eldest brother who answered the door. Her eldest brother Dori, who never stepped outside his front door with a single hair out of place or his clothing unpressed, who had forever been nagging at Ori in her youth for letting her petticoats drag in the dirt, answering Mister Balin’s door with his hair decidedly askew and quite a few buttons undone on his tunic._ _

__“Ori!” Dori gaped, his mouth hanging open, “W-hat are you doing here?”_ _

__“I’ve come to show Balin the book I just finished. What are _you_ doing here?”_ _

__Dori’s mouth opened and closed a few times, no noise coming out. He still stood in front of the doorway, blocking Ori’s view of Balin’s entry way, ran a hand over his messy hair._ _

__“I…well, I…Mister Balin had uh…”_ _

__“Ah, Ori my dear,” Balin appeared over Dori’s shoulder, wearing his dressing gown (and that was very odd indeed, in Ori’s view. Why would someone be wearing a dressing gown of all things in the mid-afternoon? Well, unless you were taking a nap…), “What brings you here?”_ _

__“I just finished off The Reign and Life Adventures of King Durin IV.”_ _

__Balin gave one of his kindly smiles, “Oh, wonderful! That was a big job, wasn’t it?”_ _

__“Quite a big one, yes…” Ori shifted the book on her hip, aware Balin may be trying to distract her from the mystery presented to her, “And what are you doin’ here this time o’ day Dori?”_ _

__Ori watched Dori go quite pink over the nose. Balin didn’t miss a beat._ _

__“Your brother was good enough to offer to assist me…” Balin and Dori shared a look, Balin clearing his throat, “With some etchings.”_ _

__“Yes! Etchings! Those etchings! T-the ones you were showing me,” Dori turned back to Ori, “I’ve always had an interest in etchings…and the uh…viewing of the same.”_ _

__“I never knew you had such a strong interest in art, Dori,” Ori said, putting a hand on her hip._ _

__Dori puffed up, somehow even turning redder in the face that he had been before, “I have many interests, young Miss. This might come as a surprise to you but your old brother has a life outside of running around after you and Nori! A full and exciting life!”_ _

__“Full of etchings, apparently,” Ori offered._ _

__“Yes! Full of…many things. Now, if you’ll excuse me Mister Balin, I’m afraid I must be off,” Dori hurriedly did up the last buttons on his shift, getting most of them in the wrong hole, “I’m needed somewhere else…I am very busy after all.”_ _

__“Of course, Mister Dori. Do drop in again…any time you wish.”_ _

__Ori was fairly certain she saw Balin’s hand rest for just a moment on Dori’s waist before Dori was out the door, saying a curt goodbye to the both of them and then bustling down the hall as fast as he could go._ _

__Balin gave a sigh as soon as Dori was out of sight. Ori looked over at him, raising an eyebrow._ _

__“Is somethin’ wrong Mister Balin?” she asked, wry look on her face. Ooh, the sharp little minx!_ _

__“Oh nothing, sister. I was just thinking on how some things do run in families, don’t they?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I've written a post on my tumblr about Gheta's family structure and giving a bit more detail on the background of her relationships for anyone who's interested in reading it: http://smuttysmuttysmut.tumblr.com/post/47000558040/headcannons-about-gheta#notes 
> 
> I've been trying to think of a really good word for dwarves to refer to those who practice polygamy. I've come up with 'the Way' as sort of the polite term for it, but 'plygs' short for 'polygamists' is a bit more casual and can be seen as a term of derision. Those of you who are as fascinated by fringe religious groups as I am may recognize this as the term used to describe the fundamentalist Mormons who practice polygamy. We also get a hint in this chapter of the Longbeard cultural supremacy in dwarven society. 
> 
> Also, I just couldn't resist adding in a few "come up and see my etchings' jokes into this. Balin, you old fox!


	20. Chapter 20

_She was running._

_Her feet kept slipping on the slimy ground beneath her, she kept almost falling, almost dropping the bundle clasped close to her chest. She had to keep going. Not far now. Not far._

_They’re right behind. She could hear them coming, their shrieks and snarls. A hoard of gobins right on her heels. She clutched her baby tighter, pain in her side flaring as she shifted the wrong way. She doubled over and looked down, whimpering at the sight._

_Her scars had reopened, dark blood spreading over her dress. Oh Mahal! Where was Dwalin? Where was he? Where were Dori and Nori to protect her?_

_She held her baby tighter and started running again. She had to save her baby, big strong boy, heavy in her arms._

_The shrieks were getting louder. They were getting closer! The tunnels were narrowing, she couldn’t stand, she crawled along on the ground._

_Blood on the ground…her blood, making her hands slip. Oh Mahal please, don’t let them get her! Not again!_

_Start with the youngest!_

_Please! No please! Someone save her!_

“NO! GET BACK!” Ori sat straight up in bed, sweat pouring off her. Arms grasped her and she thrashed, trying to force the goblins away from her. 

“Ori! Ori love! It’s alrigh’ lass, it was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare love!”

Dwalin! Dwalin was here. Awareness came back to Ori; she was in bed. Dwalin beside her, not a single goblin to be seen around for at least a thousand miles. She wasn’t back in the Goblin Caves, she was safe, Dwalin was beside her. Dwalin protected her. 

Strong arms wrapped around Ori and gently pulled her back down onto the bed, her whole body still shaking. Dwalin pulled her close (as close as he could with her stomach between them) and kissed her forehead, whispering comforting words in her ears until her shaking reduced slightly; “I’m here…yer safe…just a dream.”

“Was it a bad one love?”

Ori nodded, gripping his hand where it rested on her neck, “Y-es. R-really bad.”

“The goblins again?”

She just nodded, her whole body giving a shudder. Her side was throbbing, a lightning bolt of pain travelling down her thigh, she shifted in place. 

“Is yer side hurtin’ again? I can go fix up Oin’s draught for ye…”

“No! No…maybe in a little while. Just…stay here? Please?”

“Alrigh’. As long as ye want love.”

They lay in silence for a while, Dwalin rubbing slow circles on Ori’s back until he felt her breath come more evenly and her body become less tense. 

“Do you ever get nightmares?” she asked after a while, her voice soft. 

“Aye. I do…did perhaps. I haven’t had one in a while.”

“Wha’ were they about?”

Dwalin took a deep breath in before answering, “Azunalibar mainly. My Father fell there.”

Ori shuffled even closer, burying her face into his shoulder, “Oh…I’m sorry.”

“It’s alrigh’ love. Yer upset already, let’s not talk about it now. Jus’ try an relax, ye need yer sleep.”

That was the sixth night in a row Ori had woken screaming in the wee hours. She was exhausted from the lack of sleep, as she rarely went back to sleep properly after one of the dreams and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Dwalin was doing little better, his nerves fraying down from worry for her, frustrated that he could not protect her from the monsters that chased her at night. 

Ori’s nightmares were apparently not unusual among pregnant dwarrowdams, though Oin conceded that Ori’s were probably exacerbated by her experiences in the Company. He prescribed her a mild draught of valerian to help her sleep through the night and Bilbo (Consultant in Cosiness for Pregnant Ladies as he now referred to himself) came over with some old hobbit remedies for better sleep. 

Little embroidered pillows filled with dried lavender were secreted around Ori and Dwalin’s bedroom, an in depth discussion was had with Dori about tea blends which would best provide restful sleep, and Ori’s whole bedroom was redesigned according to the “Principles of Rest,” a Hobbitish school of thought ( _“Philosophy”_ Bilbo was quick to point out) of how to arrange furniture and decorate to make the inhabitant most comfortable. Ori and Dwalin’s bed was, apparently, against completely the wrong wall, but with a little help from Dori that was soon put to rights. 

Ori rather had a feeling this might be a whole lot of nonsense, but she was perhaps a little grumpy from lack of sleep. Dori gave her a stern look when she rolled her eyes, one that said ‘Mr Bilbo is only trying to help, love.’

Ori thanked Mister Bilbo for his help, giving him a kiss on the cheek for his trouble, which made him blush terribly. That almost cheered Ori up, but not by much. 

In truth, Ori was beginning to hate being pregnant. She really hated it. Now in her eleventh month (due any day now really) she resolved almost hourly that this would be her first and only child, she couldn’t imagine ever doing this again. 

Her back ached, her feet ached, her breasts ached, swollen to their capacity. She was gassy and crampy to boot. The weight of the baby on her bladder was awful, she had to visit the privy almost constantly, the repetition of pulling herself up and out of bed over and over only adding to the pain in her back. The excitement of having a baby was dulled by this stage, replaced by the ardent wish just to have her body back and her be able to hold her baby in her arms. 

Since she wasn’t ready to try out her re-redecorated new bedroom she wandered into the nursery, rearranging all the things she’s collected for the baby. There was the crib, now clean and polished, the mithril inlays gleaming, a lovely chest of draws in the same oak wood to match, full of blankets, swaddling, and baby clothes. The toys were her favourite part, knitted animals from Dori (Ori’s favourite being a big brown bear, rather like Beorn) and beautifully carved wooden toys from Bifur and Bofur. 

The walls of the nursery were fresh and repainted as well, the new frieze showing not just Erebor, but the Company’s journey towards it. On one wall was the Shire and Mister Bilbo’s lovely round green door, then the Company outwitting those foolish trolls, then walking down into Rivendell. None of the really scary parts of the Quest were there, but there was one very good scene of the Company fighting some rather spindly looking spiders and then Bilbo outwitting the elves and sending them down the river in barrels. 

Ori was so proud of her nursery. She and Dwalin had worked hard to make it warm and bright and cosy. She was determined to be a good mother, even though she was younger than most were when they had their first. Something Ori was becoming very aware of as more and more settlers trickled into Erebor. There were whispers from the older women, clucking of tongues and shakes of their heads when they saw Ori at the market. 

_“So young…”_

_“I’ve heard she’s not even in her 80’s…”_

_“Dear me, barely much more than a child herself…”_

_“And a Mother’s Daughter besides. You know what they say, gold tells from the vein. Snared herself one of the Line of Durin out on the road, can’t imagine_ that _took long…”_

Ori hadn't been terribly upset when she had first overheard these whispers, she was a Mother’s Daughter after all, and there had been plenty of people who had felt the need to make comment even before she became the richest woman under the Mountain, now she was more well known there were simply more of them. 

She had not been seriously affected until later that morning at the Market, deliberating over what to have for dinner with Dis. Dori had grumbled at Ori wanting to go out and Ori, in her temper, had actually snapped at him that she was pregnant, not dying, and a walk and some fresh air would do her good! 

“I got some lovely fresh lamb in this mornin’ Lady Ori,” the butcher offered helpfully, “It’s just the season for it." 

“Hmm…maybe. Oin says I should be eatin’ a bit more white meat these days though…” Ori pulled her basket a little further up her arm, unable to decide. 

“How about a chicken for the pot then? I got ones for boilin’ and ones for roastin’, whichever ye prefer." 

“Could I get two of those roasting birds, Mister Rek?” Dis pointed to two of the chickens on display, licking her lips, “I do love roast chicken. And since I’m here, half a side of that bacon there…Oh! You wouldn’t happen to have any of those eggs you had last week would you? I’m fresh out.” 

“I got ‘em out the back. A dozen, Lady Dis?" 

“Please,” Dis smiled and handed over her basket to the butcher, who left to fill it with the eggs she wanted. She nudged Ori who was still caught in an internal debate over chicken or lamb, “Where do you want to go after here? Gridr told me there’s a new haberdasher’s cart just down the road. If you’re not too tired we could see if there’s some nice ribbon…” 

Dis trailed off rather suddenly, causing Ori to look up. She followed Dis’ line of sight and saw a new dwarrowdam had entered the butcher’s shop, dressed all in blue silk, her flax blonde hair done quite extravagantly, even by Longbeard standards. She was definitely older than Ori, though not as old as Dis, and was pretty, in a showy sort of way. Behind her was a younger but definitely mousier young woman, her dress plain and hair done in an old fashioned married woman’s style (Ori half expected to see a Matron’s cap on her head, even though they had gone out of style over 300 years ago). 

Ori looked back to Dis, then to the new woman, only to find the new woman’s eyes trained firmly upon her, boring into Ori. 

Dis spoke first, “Lady Yohi…what a surprise! I had not heard your family had returned to the Mountain." 

Yohi’s dark blue eyes flicked to Dis but then went straight back to Ori, “We only arrived last week, Lady Dis. And how _good_ it is to see you again as well." 

Ori noted that Dis hadn’t said anything about it being good to see Yohi. The younger woman shifted nervously in place, her hand resting on the top of her stomach. 

“And who is this?” Yohi took a few steps towards Ori, Dis mirroring her movements and stepping closer as well, “I do not believe we’ve met…” 

Ori stepped back, feeling the edge of the butcher’s counter pressing against the back of her legs. She squared her shoulders before she spoke, “Ori, daughter of Rhias, at your service.” 

“Yohi, daughter of Lord Torit, at yours,” Yohi said quickly, “Rhias…that’s not a common man’s name is it…” 

“It’s not a man’s name at all as far as I am aware,” Ori said back, knowing exactly Yohi’s meaning. 

Yohi blinked, “Mmm perhaps. Now…Ori…Ori…that name is familiar to me. Ah! Are you not the young Miss Ori who was a part of Thorin’s Company?” 

“She was indeed,” Dis answered for her. 

“Oh, you must be so brave!” Yohi gave a smile which did not quite meet her eyes, “Spending all that time above ground, all that wandering about the place, I cannot imagine doing it myself. I doubt there are many _ladies_ who would. Still…it can’t all have been bad, can it?” 

Yohi’s eyes flicked down to Ori’s pregnant stomach then back up to her face, her lip curled momentarily, “Did I also hear you had married an old friend of mine, Mister Dwalin?” 

“Friend?” Dis said incredulously. Yohi gave a sharp look in return, shifting her basket to her other arm. 

The blonde woman sneered again and stepped to the side, looking down at the chickens the butcher had on display, “It’s a funny thing isn’t it…” 

“What is?” Ori asked, trying to step away but finding herself trapped in the corner between the wall and the edge of the counter. Yohi’s basket was pressing into her side. 

“Do you ever wonder which comes first? Chickens or eggs? Oh, it’s a silly question I suppose. Do you ever think about it, Ohi?” 

Yohi turned her head towards the plain woman still standing at the door. Ohi just looked down at her feet and shook her head. The basket pressed more into Ori’s side, almost painfully now. 

“Ah! Lady Yohi, do ye mind…?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry, forgive me,” Yohi gave Ori her space, “Yes, it’s an odd question really. Which comes first, chickens or eggs, foal or mare…babes or marriage…” 

“Yohi…please…” a soft voice said, little more than a whisper. Ohi (Yohi’s sister, Ori presumed) looked upset, pressing a handkerchief to her forehead. 

“Stop _whining_ Ohi, we’re leaving,” She turned and looked directly at Ori, “All the meat in here looks like it’s been handled by every dwarrow and his brother anyway.” 

Yohi didn’t even try to hide her sneer at Ori this time, she walked towards her sister, “Do pass on my regards to Mister Dwalin, Miss Ori. I’m certain he will remember me. We were very close at one time,” she turned at the door and affected a look of surprise, “Oh dear me…it seems you’ve had a little spill!” 

Ori looked down at her dress (this one dusky pink with white Gondorian lace edging and mother of pearl buttons) and saw a large black stain on the side of her stomach, at least the size of a small melon. She touched her fingers to it…ink! Where had she come in contact which such a lot of ink?! 

Yohi shifted her basket again, probably purposefully, as it drew Ori’s eyes towards it, and it was there Ori saw the little pot of ink, missing it’s stopper. 

“A good day to you both ladies!” 

Yohi and her sister were out the door before Ori could say a word. She looked down at her dress again, completely ruined, and then over to Dis, whose face was a mask of pure rage. Tears came to Ori’s eyes, she tried to blink them away but they still came, a few slipping down her cheeks. 

“She’s still just as awful a trollop as she always was!” Dis snapped, hands on her hips, “Oh, Ori dear, please don’t cry…here…” 

She wiped her handkerchief over Ori’s cheeks as the butcher came back from the back room, holding Dis’ basket full of eggs, plus the meat she’d wanted all wrapped up. 

“Here we are, Lady Dis, that’ll be five and six for the lot. Now, what about you Lady Ori…” The butcher stopped seeing Ori’s tear streaked face and the stain on her dress, “Lady Ori…are ye alright?!" 

“Y-es. Yes Mister Rek, I’m fine,” Ori sniffed, wiping her face, “T-though I think I may be more in the mood for fish tonight.” 

~*~*~ 

“And she’s still dressing like she’s in her nineties!” Dis said with some force as she poured Ori and Gridr cups of tea, “When she can’t be a day under 150!” 

“That’s no surprise,” Gridr said wryly, she held out Ori’s dress in front of her and looked at the ink stain, “Tch, it’s such a lovely dress. Do ye have any milk about to turn, Ori love?” 

Ori nodded, pulling her housecoat tighter around her, “Aye. I’ll put the dress in ta soak tomorrow, though I don’t think it’ll move it much. If it’s one thing I know…it’s ink stains.” 

Dis helped herself to a biscuit, “I’m just surprised she’s back here. I didn’t think Torit would have been able to afford the cost of a big move like that.” 

“Ah! That’s the thing though,” Gridr leaned over the table, conspiratorially, “All those years they were trying to make a good match with Yohi, it’s Ohi who lands a merchant. One of some means apparently. He’s the reason they’ve got two coins to rub together right now.” 

“Tch, I’m not really surprised. She’s a pretty package that Yohi but underneath she’s rotten to the core,” Dis nodded, “I was never happier than the day Dwalin ended things with her.” 

“How long were they courtin’?” Ori asked, unable to help herself. 

Dis thought for a while, “No more than a six month, thinking back. She ended things fairly quickly when she found someone wealthier she thought was more deserving of her time. Dear Ori, don't think about it too much, I guarantee you, Dwalin hasn’t given Yohi a second thought in a very long time.” 

Ori tried not to, but such things are easier said than done when you’re quite young and quite pregnant and have not slept well in a week. Yohi’s words played over in Ori’s mind after Dis and Gridr left. Was that really how she was seen by the other inhabitants of the Mountain? That she was unfeminine? Of loose morals? There had never been such awful things said about any other member of the Company! Oh no, they were _heroes!_

The terrible unfairness of this crashed down on Ori and she soon found herself curling up in a ball under the covers of her bed, pulling the sheets right up over her head. Bah to them all! She would stay here forever and never speak to anyone again and then they’d all be sorry!! 

This self imposed exile lasted roughly until that evening, when Dori came over to start dinner. Ori didn’t realize she’d actually fallen into a proper restful sleep until Dori gently shook her awake. She blinked, feeling that slight disorientation that comes with sleeping during the day. Perhaps the Halflings were onto something with that ‘Principles of Rest’ stuff. 

Dori often came over to help with dinner these days, which Ori was very thankful for. She still felt bad about snapping at him earlier in the day and tried to be very helpful and very kind. Nori wasn’t joining them; in his words, he was ‘on night shift’ at the moment, and was usually off by the time dinner rolled around (hence why he usually saw Ori for breakfast). 

Ori heard the doors to Balin’s apartment opening and closing and before long he had poked his head around the door and had joined them for dinner. Ori couldn’t help but notice that this was happening much more often as of recent, and that her brother-in-law’s eyes followed Dori as he moved around the kitchen. 

Dwalin arrived home not long after, giving Ori a kiss as he came into the kitchen. His forehead creased, she looked pale…almost sallow. 

“You alrigh’ love?” 

She gave him a half smile, “It’s nothin’…I’ll tell ye about it later.” 

After a hearty dinner of crumbed fish, chips and new season beans (at Dori’s insistence) the family all went to sit in the main sitting room. Dori stoked the fire and and tsked at Ori as she came in in just her stocking feet. 

“Young Miss, you go right to your room and put on those socks I slaved over, right now! And your slippers too!” he raised his voice slightly after her as Ori huffed and waddled down the hall to the bedroom. Honestly, that girl! 

Balin gave a chuckle, lighting his pipe and making himself comfortable in his favourite armchair. He took a deep breath of smoke and watched Dori bustle around the room, putting Ori’s inks and paints away, gathering up some of her papers into neater piles. The corner of his mouth quirked up as Dori bent down to pick a dropped quill off of the floor. 

Mahal, he was a blessed dwarrow! 

Balin was very tempted to go over and give that very nice, ample bottom of Dori’s a quick squeeze but Ori came back then, carrying her socks and the fuzzy sheepskin slippers Dori had bought her down in Dale when he and Balin had gone for ‘trade discussions’ last month. She eased herself down on the couch and waited for Dwalin to come in to help her put them on, her stomach making it difficult for her to lean down that far. 

Dwalin came in and did just that, kneeling down to put the thick woollen socks on Ori’s feet and then popping her slippers on over the top. He made himself comfortable in the corner of the couch, letting Ori nestle next to him and put his arm around her shoulders. 

A summer storm had swept in from the East today, his leg and another wound, an old one in his shoulder, aching as the rain came down. And that was just the start of Dwalin’s troubles. The new recruits he was training were in serious need of some discipline and he wished he could give it to them, unfortunately Captain of the Mountain Guard was a job which involved an awful lot of paperwork. He’d only had the chance to make one recruit almost cry this week, a new low point. 

Not to mention the new waves of settlers who had arrived in the last few months had brought trouble with them, the newly rich merchants who had done well in the years of wandering butting heads with the old (and cash poor) nobility who felt the best homes, shops, and mines should be theirs by right of birth. Those same nobles were usually the sort who would not respond to a simple guards-dwarrow asking them to calm down, oh no, these were the sorts which demanded to see the Captain himself! Dwalin had lost count of the number of times he’d been pulled away from his daily routine to drag some whining noble and snappish merchant before Thorin and Balin for ‘arbitration’ (or as he put it: ‘a right good bollocksing’). 

What made it worse, was that Dwalin really wanted to spend more time at home these days. Every moment he was out of the house his mind turned to Ori. Was she well? Was the bairn well? What if her time came and she was home alone(it could be any day now)? Who would be there to help her to the birthing rooms? Who would get Oin? What if she tripped and fell, hurting herself? What if…what if…his mind was full of ‘what ifs’. 

Dwalin wasn’t alone in his concern though, and once again he thanked Mahal they were safely living under the Mountain, with a proper group of trustworthy dwarrows around them. Dori had all but moved into their household in the last month and Nori had assured Dwalin that whenever Ori went out ‘eyes were on her’. That was…almost comforting. 

Dwalin was a dwarrow with many things weighing on his mind, but now, sitting in his home, in front of a bright fire with a full belly, his sweet Ori by his side safe and sound, all his troubles seemed a little further away. He rubbed his hand over hers on his lap, looking down at the rings on her fingers. She wasn’t used to wearing much jewellery, but Balin had convinced her to wear a few of the pieces of their Grandmother’s collection he had managed to save from before the Fall. 

Later that night, as Dwalin was taking off his clothes and throwing what needed to be washed into the basket he saw Ori’s pink dress and the big black spot on the top of it. He frowned, wondering what had happened to it. 

“What happened to yer pink dress, love?” Dwalin asked as he came back into their bedroom, Ori already wrapped up in bed. 

“Oh…that…” Ori put down the book she’d been reading ( _Foundations Wrought of Stone: Teaching Kuzdul in the Home_ ), “I ran into an old friend of yours today. I don’t think she was pleased yer married.” 

“Who was it?” 

“A Lady Yohi, daughter of Torit,” Ori crossed her arms, a bitter taste coming into her mouth as she said the name. 

Dwalin frowned, “What did she do?" 

“Poured ink on me at the butcher’s. Accused me o’ sleepin’ with the whole Company. Dis says it’s not out o’ character for her apparently.” 

Dwalin’s frown grew only deeper, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom. 

“Dwalin! Dwalin wait!” Ori struggled to pull herself out of bed and waddled after him back into the laundry where he was pulling on his pants over his nightshirt, “What are ye bloody doin’?” 

“Go back to bed Ori. I’m just poppin’ out to pay a visit to an old acquaintance.” 

“Like bloody hell ye are! You come back to bed righ’ now! Yer not thinkin’ straight.” 

“I’m tryin’ to defend yer honour!” 

“Oh, yer full o’ nonsense! Defending my honour…Durin’s beard! Fine! If ye want to go and make a complete fool o’ yerself, leave yer pregnant wife alone in the middle of the night, then you go right ahead!” 

And with that Ori turned on her heel and stormed back to bed. Dwalin watched her go, his anger fading fast, replaced by the feeling that he was perhaps being a little silly. 

When he came back to bed, Ori was already tucked back in, her book open and propped up against her belly. He slid under the covers beside her. 

“A lot o’ wives would be pleased their husbands were willin’ to run off and defend their honour…” he said, perhaps a little petulantly. 

“A lot o’ husbands know better than to go runnin’ off when they’re angry, as well.” 

Dwalin hmphed, crossing his arms, “I’m still gonna have a word with her when I see her next.” 

“I can handle it meself.” 

“Ye shouldn’t have to! I swore I’d protect ye Ori…from everything.” 

“Including your ex-lady friends?” 

“Especially them!” 

Ori gave a low chuckle at that, closing her book and putting in on the night stand. She turned over and nestled into bed closer to Dwalin, letting him put his arm over her shoulders, “Ah, yer a fool sometimes.” 

“True, but I’m your fool,” He kissed her and pulled one of the blankets higher over her shoulders, “Have ye taken all the medicines Oin gave ye?” 

Ori nodded, giving a long yawn, “And had the special tea Dori made. And if ye haven’t noticed, the bedroom’s hoarding practically a mountain’s worth of lavender around the place.” 

“I had wondered about the smell…” 

Ori smiled, eyes already closed, “Think I’ll make it the whole night?” 

Dwalin blew out the candle on his nightstand, “I hope so lassie.” 

~*~*~ 

_She was back in the barrels, but something was wrong._

The whole world was blackness, she could feel the barrel rocking back and forth in the water. Her elbows and knees kept knocking against the wood. She tried to moved a little but it was tight…too tight… 

She looked down at her stomach, so large and swollen. Why did Bilbo give her such a tiny barrel when she was so big? She needed more room. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see her feet where they were cramped under her! 

She was cold. Wet too. Oh Mahal, a leak! Her barrel had a leak! She could feel the cold damp spreading over her lower back, dripping down her legs. 

Oh Mahal! She was going to drown in here, in the dark, all alone. She started to beat frenetically against the lid of the barrel, trying to push it open. 

She wouldn’t die like this. She couldn’t! There was a pop…almost got it open now. 

Water getting higher now, crawling up her back… 

Her baby…she had to save her baby! 

Ori woke gasping for breath, pushing the blankets off her. Nightmare. Just another nightmare. 

She focused on her breathing, as Oin had taught her to do, touching the blankets, her pillow, the nightstand, to remind her where she was, that she was safe and sound. 

She took a long deep breath and looked over beside her to where Dwalin was still asleep. Well, at least she hadn’t woken him this time. One of them should get a good night’s sleep this week. Ori put her hands on her forehead and sighed, weighing getting up to take another dose of Oin’s potion against the cold of the kitchen at this time of night. 

Eh, she’d try to get back to sleep herself. Ori reached down to grab the sheets and pull them back up. 

Her hand met wetness. 

Ori blinked and sat up, touching more of the sheets, finding a veritable puddle around her hips on the bed. 

Oh Mahal! Oh Mahal and Durin and anyone else who wanted to listen! 

“Dwalin! Dwalin wake up!!” Ori shook him roughly 

“Wha…what is it lassie? What’s wrong?” 

“Dwalin…my waters have broken!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the ink stain and the milk Gridr was referring to, ink stains are very hard to shift, but an old remedy to get them out is to soak the stain in rotten milk for a couple of days. The plus side is you get your stain out, the bad side is you now have clothes that smell of rotten milk...so...yay?


	21. Chapter 21

“My waters have broken.” 

Ori couldn’t keep the tiny note of panic out of her voice. Dwalin sat up, becoming aware of the wetness spreading around him. 

“Oh…oh Mahal!” Dwalin lept out of the bed, “Mahal above!”

He panted a little, his stomach clenching as Ori whimpered in the bed. Alright…alright…he had to be calm. They’d talked about this, they had a strategy, a plan. Step one of the plan: get Oin. Right. Oin. Go and wake Oin.

“Dwalin…ahh…help me up!” Ori started to drag herself to the side of the bed, “I can’t stay in this…”

She gestured at the mess in the bed, “Take me to the pot…quickly…”

“Right…o’ course, lassie. Whatever ye want…”

Dwalin helped his wife up, supporting her as she started her slow waddle to the toilet, the waters continuing to dribble down her legs. 

She stopped suddenly, crying out a ‘no,’ and wincing as a contraction started.

“What is it? Durin’s beard, it’s not that fast is it?”

“No! No…not the toilet. I’ll get stuck there! I’ll have the baby on the toilet just like Gridr!” Ori doubled over, “I’m not havin’…the first baby born in Erebor…ugh…born on the bloody toilet!”

“Alrigh’, back to bed then, lass,” Dwalin turned Ori back to the bed.

“No-o! I’ve ruined the mattress!” Ori turned Dwalin back towards to the door, the couple completing a full circle, “Take me…take me to the kitchen.”

Dwalin did just that, helping Ori settle down on one of the study chairs around the kitchen table. It wasn’t a soft seat, but it was a high one, she’d easily be able to get up and out of it if she wanted to walk around. Right, now the plan could be set in motion. Stage One was a go!

“Right lassie, you stay put. I’ll run down the road and grab Oin then we’ll head to tha Birthin’ Rooms. You just keep up yer breathin’, like Mister Oin taught ya.”

Ori nodded and took one deep breath in through her nose then out through her mouth, counting slowly to four as she did, just like Oin taught her. Dwalin lent down and kissed her, resting his hand on her stomach before turning to go.

“Dwalin…wait!”

“What is it, love?”

“Ye might want to…well…” Ori looked down Dwalin’s body then back up at him. 

Ah…right. 

Make that Stage One: Pants.

Stage Two: Get Oin.

Soon, a quite grumpy Oin was up ( _Why do they always bloody come in the dead of the night?_ ) and Ori was safely ensconced in the Birthing Room she, Oin and Dis had restored and made ready for her. There was a mattress she could lay on if she wanted, a pump by the wall which came straight from Erebor’s hot springs so there would be a constant supply of warm, clean water, plenty of towels and blankets, a low table for Oin’s instruments (though, all things going well, they would not be needed), and finally, carved into the walls of the Mountain itself, the Birthing Chair. 

It was taught to every Dwarven child that Mahal bore their people out of the rock itself, this was a fact well known. As such, every Dwarven birth, every addition to Mahal’s act of creation, was done as close to the rock as possible(it was sometimes not quite possible, as Gridr would attest, she had contented herself with gripping the stone wall of her and Gloin’s privy as she birthed their son). The Dwarrowdams of some ancient time had carved this chair into the side of the Mountain, ground and polished the stone down to the smoothest of surfaces, runes of fertility, health, strength and life carved over the arms and up the back. When Ori’s labour reached it height, when it was time for her to push, Dwalin would carry her to the Chair for their child to be born. 

Dwalin paced the room like a trapped animal, tension practically radiating off him. Oin grimaced as he felt Ori tense on the mattress, Dwalin making another circuit of the room. He finished his preliminary examination of the young lass and then sat back, pulling the sheet down as Ori closed her legs. Dis came over and vsat beside him. 

_“How far is she?”_ she signed to him.

 _“She’s barely a finger width dilated,”_ Oin paused to stifle a yawn, the switched to speaking aloud rather than signing, “We’ll be here the better part of a day if we’re a here a minute, mark my words.”

They both watched as Dwalin made another circuit of the room, Oin gave a sigh. 

“Dwalin lad…”

Dwalin stopped in his circuit and ran to Oin’s side, “Yes?! What is it? Is somethin’ wrong?!”

“No no,” Oin rubbed a hand over his face, “Would ye do me a favour, run down to Missus Gheta’s household and see if ye can get young Mister Harkur up. He needs more birthin’ experience and another set o’ steady hands is always welcome.”

“Should I really be leavin’? What if somethin’ happens?”

“Dwalin lad, they live two tunnels over. Ye’ll be back before even before the next contraction,” Oin stood, putting his hand on Dwalin’s shoulder and turning him away from Ori’s line of sight. He hissed in the younger man’s ear, “Yer makin’ the poor lass nervous! Go for a walk, take a few breaths, and come back a bit bloody calmer!”

Dwalin scowled, his brow darkening. 

Oin poked a finger into his chest, “You know how scared she is? She’s terrified! She needs you ta be the calm one! You have to be strong for her!” Oin reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, shoving it into Dwalin’s hand, “Here! Have a swig o’ this.”

Dwalin did as told, taking a generous mouthful of Firebeard whiskey, the heat of it racing down his stomach and spreading outwards. 

“Now…there’s a lad. Pop out and get young Harkur for me, tell Dori and Nori everything’s goin’ to plan as well,” Oin patted Dwalin’s shoulder firmly. 

Dwalin’s eyes flicked to Ori on the low bed, her hands clenched tightly on the sheets over her, her face set in worry. He took a deep breath and walked over to the bed, squatting beside it. He picked up one of her hands from the sheets, pressing his lips to it.

“Lassie, I’m just poppin’ out to run an’ grab young Hark-“

“Alrigh,’” Ori said quickly, giving him a thin wobbly smile. 

Dwalin gave a short snort of a laugh, he brushed some of her hair off her face, “I’ll be right back, love.”

“I know,” she whispered back. 

Dwalin moved as fast as he could through the tunnels, barking at a young guardsman on duty who dared ask him, in a jovial sort of way, what he was doing up so early. 

He came quickly to Gheta’s door, barely taking in the little gold pendant which hung from the lintel, making the house as a Firebeard residence. He banged against the door until he heard shuffling around inside. 

A dwarrow with a thick red beard, peppered with white answered the door. He was tall, his broad shoulders and thick arms, as well as an impressive collection of scars, telling Dwalin the dwarf answering the door was a fellow warrior, though perhaps one who hadn’t fought for a while, his middle being quite soft. In any other circumstances, Dwalin would have been quietly pleased he had finally met the elusive Mister Iusi, Gheta’s first husband (Harkur commonly seen tailing his Master, Oin, and Nohl practically a fixture at the forges), but now there were more pressing issues at hand. 

“This better be important…” Iusi growled, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. 

“It is. Ori’s time is here…she needs…Mister Oin asked for young Harkur’s assistance.”

Iusi blinked and gave a long yawn, covering his mouth, “Oh…you better come in then.”

Dwalin refused a seat in the parlour and the drink Iusi offered him, pacing around the room as Iusi excused himself to go and wake Harkur and Gheta (it was his night with her, apparently). He was still pacing when Iusi returned, without Harkur but with the Lady of the House coming after him. 

Gheta smiled broadly at seeing Dwalin, pulling the tie of her dressing gown tighter and putting out her hand to grasp Dwalin’s wrist in congratulations. 

“Ah, Mister Dwalin, blessings upon ye! It’s abou’ time, poor wee lass looked about ready to pop last I saw her! Young Harkur will be righ’ out, he’s just gettin’ his kit together.”

Dwalin nodded tersely and finally sat down on the edge of one of the couches, hands clasped together so hard his knuckles were white. They sat in tense silence for a few moments, Gheta squeezing Iusi’s knee when he sat beside her on the couch, until Harkur bustled out, pulling on his gloves and his healer’s bag tucked under one arm. 

“Right, right, right, I’m ready, I’m here…I’m ready and here!” he looked up and smiled brightly, far too cheerful for this time of the day than anyone really had any right to be, “Good mornin’ Mister Dwalin! How excited ye must be! Just let me grab my coat and we’ll be right on our way!”

Harkur did just that, picking up a deep red coat from a peg on the wall and speaking over his shoulder to Iusi, “It’s my morning for breakfast, would you mind taking it? I have a feeling I won’t be back most o’ the day. I’ll make it up to ye…”

Iusi waved Harkur off, “Aye, aye, don’t worry about it. Take one o’ my mornin’s next week.”

“And ye’ll get Tarkur up?”

“O’ course.”

“Thank you,” Harkur pulled on his coat and came over to the couch, resting his forehead against Iusi’s for a moment before kissing Gheta on the cheek, “Right...ready to go, Mister Dwalin!”

Dwalin gave a terse nod, already standing. He bowed to Iusi as Gheta showed them to the door. 

“I’ll pop by the Birthin’ Rooms later in the day, see how ye all are doin’,” Gheta gave Dwalin and Harkur warm smiles, “Ah don’t fret now Mister Dwalin, she’s a hardy wee thing for a Longbeard lass.”

Dwalin made a noncommittal noise, Harkur gave Gheta one last kiss goodbye and then they were on their way. The warrior strode purposefully down the tunnels, Harkur’s much shorter legs hurrying to keep up. 

Dori, Nori and Balin were all seated in the antechamber to the Birthing Room and all stood when they saw Dwalin enter with Harkur. The young healer bid them all a good morning, said the usual pleasantries which went along with such an occasion and then bustled into the Birthing Room. Dwalin moved to follow him but was blocked by Nori swooping in front of the door. 

“How is she? You barely said anything before. Wha’s goin’ on in there? Is she alrigh’? Why does Oin need a second healer?” Nori was becoming more and more irate, “Is somethin’ wrong? Is that it? There’s a complication, isn’t there? Oh Mahal above! This is your fault ye bastard! YOU DID THIS TO HER!”

Dori thankfully intervened then, stopping Nori from leaping up and strangling Dwalin, “Nori! Get a hold of yourself, for the love of decency!”

“But it’s all his fault!”

“There’s nothin’ wrong,” Dwalin growled, “Oin just wants Harkur to have more birthin’ experience. She’s fine.” 

That seemed to mollify Nori, if only a little, and he stalked back over to his chair. Dori shook his head and took a deep breath. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s excitable. Now, has Ori asked for anything? I was going to pop home and bring some breakfast for us all…”

Dwalin rubbed a hand over his forehead, “She packed a wee bag a few days ago, it’s in the closet. It’s got a change o’ clothes for her in it, things to put the baby in…”

“Right. I’ll grab that,” Dori rubbed his chin, “There’s plenty to eat in the pantry but I might pop out later and grab something special for dinner once the market’s open…is there anything else we need ta do?”

“Ah...the uh…the bed’s a bit of a mess. Her waters broke while she was sleepin’…”

Dori put up his hand in understanding, “Understood. Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fixed by the time you’re ready to come home.”

“Thank you…thank you Dori,” Dwalin let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, “Ye might have ta bring in the mattress from the spare room…”

“I said don’t worry about it. I’ll take care o’ things. You just get back in there and be her strength. I’ll bring ye some coffee and eggs.”

Dwalin nodded and opened the door to the Birthing Chamber, preparing himself to be calm, strong...steadfast for his Ori. A long groan from Ori rang out in the anteroom as the door swung open and Dwalin grabbed Dori’s shoulder.

“Bring the coffee fast, would ya?”

~*~*~

As the day wore on, people started to find excuses to wander past the Birthing Room, the excitement of the first birth in Erebor being too much for many to ignore. A little before lunch Bilbo was seen heading down the tunnels towards the Rooms, Pfaff coming behind him and bringing one of Bombur’s veal and ham pies. Bilbo had a little basket over his arm covered in a red tea towel, all sorts of nice smells coming from inside. 

“Oh, Missus Pfaff, Bilbo, ye shouldn’t have,” Dori said, taking the pie from her hands and the basket from Bilbo.

“Oh nonsense. It's just a little somethin’ to keep ye all goin’. That pie’s just as good cold as well, it’ll do ye well for a few days at least.”

“And there’s some chutney in the basket which will go with it nicely,” Bilbo added, “And a fresh loaf of bread, some elderflower cordial, roast beef, a few sweet buns towards the back there, I know Dwalin and Ori both like those.”

“It is very much appreciated. Please, come in and have a bite with us, I’m just about to put on the kettle…”

“Alright, but just the tea. We don’t want to be a bother and I gotta get back to my boys. Urat’s goin’ through a phase where he won’t settle for his afternoon nap unless I’m there,”  
Pfaff said, making herself comfortable next to Bilbo.

Bilbo and Pfaff were not the only visitors for long. Soon Kili and Fili appeared, Kili practically jumping from foot to foot with excitement. The both of them sat on the floor (despite Dori’s protests that princes shouldn't sit on the _floor_ of all places), chairs having run short in the small antechamber, and took a mug of tea each. 

“How long has it been?” Kili asked, “I’ve heard it can take hours and hours for a baby to be born…”

“Oh goodness…” Balin scratched his chin, “A good while. What bell just chimed Mister Dori, if you please?”

“The eleventh.”

“Dwalin woke us at about the fifth…so six hours or so, young Kili.”

Kili reeled at the thought. Having babies was terribly painful, or so he’d been told. He looked down at his left hand, missing two fingers. The blow that had shattered those fingers had been the worst pain he had ever known, and it had been mercifully brief before Oin had given him a draught and he had fallen asleep. He couldn’t imagine such pain lasting six hours, with more to go besides. His esteem for Ori grew considerably. 

“Gloin has a bit of a line going on the outcome of this,” Fili piped up, “Usual odds for boy to girl. I’ve put five pieces on it being a boy. You interested Mister Balin…Mister Nori?” He knew they both liked a bit of a flutter. 

Nori was still sitting on the edge of the bench by the wall, jiggling his leg endlessly, “How could ya think of bettin’ at a time like this? She’s me bloody sister, not some idiot’s prize cockerel!” he snapped, making a disgusted noise. 

“Very true, completely inappropriate Mister Nori,” Balin said in a conciliatory tone, nodding to him across the room. He dug in his pocket and leaned in closer to Fili, “Here’s ten pieces. Be a good lad and put it on for it bein’ a lass.”

“A girl? Bit of a long shot isn’t it?”

Balin winked, his eyes crinkling, “She’s been carrying low and she’s wide from the back. Might not be as long as ye think, Fili lad.”

“Still not a bet I’d take…”

Fili stood to leave with Balin’s money, Pfaff also sliding him a few pieces of gold as well to place on the birth being a boy. Kili stayed, listening to Pfaff tell the storey of Urat’s birth, and eyeing off that rather nice pie which had been left unattended by Bilbo’s picnic basket. 

Not long after yet another knock came at the anteroom door. Dori huffed, they were definitely out of chairs now! Whoever it was, they’d just have to stand or sit on someone’s laps. He went to the door and found Gheta’s oldest, young Miss Nheta on the other side holding a small metal lunchbox.

The young lady gave a polite bow to Dori, “Good day Mister Dori. Ma asked me ta drop over Harkur’s lunch…”

What a nice polite young lady, Dori found himself thinking as he invited her in (just a pity she had such an…unconventional home life). He saw Pfaff grimace as soon as the young Firebeard walked in, Nheta giving a small smile back. 

“How is Lady Ori doing?”

“Well thank you, Nheta dear,” Dori said, showing her where she could put the lunchbox down, “I think your…ah…your…”

“Harkur’s fine. I only call me own Da ‘Da’.”

Dori blinked, “Ah…fair enough I suppose. Well I think Harkur’s going to be here most of the afternoon at any rate.”

“Right ho. If ye wouldn’t mind would ye send word to me Da if it looks like things won’t be settled by dinner…just so he knows how many plates to set.”

“Of course dear, I’ll take care of it myself,” Dori bowed his head. 

“Many thanks. I’ll be on me way then.”

“Hey, Nhe-…Miss Nheta, I’ll walk with you,” Kili said, springing up from his seat and grabbing his coat. 

“Ye don’t even know where I’m goin’ yet.”

“Well…it’s probably good…wherever it is…”

Nheta gave Kili a funny look as she walked out, he close on her heels. 

Pfaff heaved a sigh and shook her head, “An’ I thought I had problems. Come along Bilbo, we should be gettin’ on ourselves, Bom will have lunch on the table for us. Call on us if ye need anythin’ at all Mister Dori, Mister Balin, I’ll be over in two shakes.”

Ori’s family said her goodbyes to Pfaff and Bilbo and sat back down in their places around the room. 

And the day wore on…

~*~*~

It was just after third bell when Oin examined Ori one last time, through a contraction which had her screaming. Dwalin was fairly certain he felt one of the bones in his hands crack as she squeezed his. 

“Righ’ Dwalin, we’re ready for the main event.,” Oin grabbed Dwalin’s shoulder then spoke to Ori, “Up in the chair, Ori lass, it’s time for ye to push.”

Dwalin did as we was bid, he picked up Ori in his arms and took her to the Birthing Chair. She flopped forward as he placed her, so exhausted by this stage she could barely hold herself up. 

“Come on, love. Are ye ready to meet our baby?”

Ori didn’t answer, letting go of Dwalin’s hands to grip the arm rests of the great stone chair. She seemed to steel herself. 

He put his hand over her’s as the next contraction started, he vaguely heard Harkur telling Ori to “Push! Push now Ori!” 

A great scream ripped through the chamber. Dwalin had never heard such a noise, nor could he quite believe it came from wee Ori. Harkur shoved Dwalin to the side, moving right between Ori’s legs as the head appeared to grab it. 

“That’s it Ori love,” Oin called out, “We got the head. On the next one, I want ye to do just the same. One more big push and the baby’s here.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Almost as soon as Oin had finished speaking the next contraction hit and Ori bore down on the chair, pushing with every last scrap of energy she had. 

And there it was: a little after three on a Thursday afternoon in the month of July, the first baby born in Erebor in over a hundred years, the first since the Fall, came into the world. A head of dark hair and bright blue eyes, ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, already screaming. Everything was a flurry of movement then, Dis bringing blankets to wrap the babe in, a small jeweled dagger was thrust into Dwalin’s hands to cut the cord with. 

It was only when the baby was placed into his hands, Oin pointing to him where to make the cut that he saw it, and though he knew Harkur had yelled it out as the baby landed into his hands, it hadn’t really registered into Dwalin's mind. But when he looked down and really saw his child it hit him…

 _…he had a daughter_. 

His first born was that greatest of Mahal’s gifts: a girl. A perfect baby girl. 

He was aware of people moving around him, of Ori being lifted and taken back to her low bed, of Dis leaving the room to tell the family outside that the babe was born and both mother and child were well. Dwalin looked up and Ori was on her side on the bed, looking small and pale, her hair plastered to her head with sweat. She gave him a small smile and he stood, bringing their daughter over to the side of the bed. 

“Hello there…” she said softly, placing her hand on top of the bundle of swaddling which held her baby, “Did I hear that right? Have we got a little girl?”

“Aye, ye heard right lass,” Dwalin passed the bundle into Ori’s arms, letting her look down at her daughter, “Can ye believe it?”

“No…not quite yet,” she ran a fingertip over fuzzy black hair, “We gotta pick a different name. We were settled on Mori…that’s not a girl’s name, no more than Dwalin is…”

Dwalin knew the one he liked, he'd given girl's names a bit more thought than Ori had, she'd been so convinced she was having a boy. 

“How about Dorlin?”

Ori looked up and smiled, “Oh…oh that is nice. I like that one…it’s got a bit o’ your family, a bit o’ mine…”

She drifted off, staring down at her baby, her Dorlin. She was perfect. A perfect little girl for Ori to love and cherish and teach. She’d been worried she wouldn’t love her child, worried that, unlike every other dwarrow-dam and every other birth, there might be something not quite right inside her, something broken perhaps by the Quest or perhaps because she had barely known her own mother, and she wouldn’t feel that instant rock-like bond which all the books spoke of…oh, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her heart almost felt too full, as if she could breathe in too much and she might burst from the joy she felt… 

Tears came unbidden, dropping down onto the little yellow blanket wrapping the baby. 

Her daughter was here, and all was right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The baby's finally here! Oh, this took me forever to write and I'm so sorry guys for keeping you on a cliffhanger for so long. I just hope it was worth the wait. :)


	22. Chapter 22

Ori came awake as she heard the door to her bedroom close, she blinked and rolled over, seeing Dis checking the fire in Ori and Dwalin’s bedroom before coming over to the bed. 

Ori rubbed her face, “Did I drift off?”

“You did, cousin, but you needed the rest,” Dis reached down into Dorlin’s crib, picking the baby out and smiling, “Someone else is up too, and hungry!”

Ori pulled herself into a sitting position as Dis walked around and sat down on Dwalin’s side of the bed. 

“I didn’t think there’d be such a trick to nursin’…” Ori sighed, unbuttoning her nightgown, letting one breast free and taking Dorlin from Dis’ arms. 

“Well, that’s why you have me, cousin. You’ll be amazed, in a few days you’ll be doing it without even thinking,” Dis put a few more pillows behind Ori’s back, “This time, I want you to try holding her a little differently, support her head with just a hand rather than the crook of your elbow…that’s it, just let me put a pillow on your lap there…good. Now, use your hand to guide her head to the nipple until she latches on…ahh, see! She’s off!”

Ori let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her first attempt at feeding Dorlin, in the birthing room after she’d delivered the afterbirth, had been less successful. It had taken several attempts to get Dorlin to take the nipple and Ori, already exhausted from the birth, had grown so frustrated she’d started to cry. Her first moments of being a mother and already she was found lacking!

Dwalin had taken Dorlin for a moment, Dis had brought Ori a mug of cool water to drink and Ori had taken a few minutes to calm herself. Then Dorlin was given back into Ori arms and she tried again. That time Dorlin had latched on quickly, much to Ori’s relief. 

After that things had been a little bit of a blur for Ori. Dis had taken Ori into an adjoining room to the Birthing Chamber with a lovely hot bath and had helped her wash. While she was out, Oin weighed, measured and tested the reflexes of wee Dorlin, declared her hale and healthy, then handed her over to Harkur to wash and rewrap her in bright yellow swaddling. 

It seemed like little more than a blink before Ori was back in her own bed, her bedroom warm and cosy, the sheets fresh and Dorlin’s cradle placed right down next to the bed. In the end, Dori had not had to replace Ori and Dwalin’s mattress, in a moment of foresight he had wrapped it in a sheet of oilcloth around it the last time he had helped Ori change the sheets (he had some experience with protecting mattresses, Nori had gone through a bit of a bedwetting stage in his 30’s). 

Ori had lain down, Dorlin beside her, and had only intended to rest her eyes for just a moment before she had heard Dis at the door. 

She gave a yawn and relaxed back into her pillows and cushions, “Where is everyone?”

Dis chuckled, “Mostly in Balin’s rooms. Dwalin and Dori have corralled everyone in there on pain of death if the party spills into your house and wakes you. Last I saw Mister Bofur was rolling in another keg of ale. Dori said to ask if you were hungry.”

“I am a bit peckish.” Ravenous, more like. Ori felt she could empty a hobbit’s pantry by herself. 

“I had a feeling you might be,” Dis shifted closer and looked down at Dorlin, “Oh, she’s precious, look at how her hair sticks up.”

Ori ran a finger through Dorlin’s black hair, already forming a ridge down the centre of her head now her hair was dry. Dis ran the back of one knuckle over a little arm a few times, then gave a sigh and sat up. 

“Tch you’re so lucky Ori, I always dreamed of having a daughter. Now, you finish her feed and Dori will get your supper on. Can I send Dwalin in or would you like a few more minutes to yourself?”

“He can come in…but just him. I just…I can’t deal with too many people right now…my hair’s a mess…”

Ori felt a little guilty. Everyone was so excited about the baby, they all just wanted to meet her, but Ori just couldn’t stomach the thought of being around so many dwarrows tonight. She just wanted to rest with Dorlin. 

“Of course,” Dis came back to the bed, leaning in to kiss Ori on the forehead, “They'll all get to see her for the Viewing anyway. I’ll do your hair for it myself.”

Ori had just set Dorlin down into the crib and was buttoning up her nightgown when the door cracked open, Dwalin peering around, the sound of Bofur’s flute and some drums floating through behind him. 

Ori couldn’t help but smile, “Close that door, she’s driftin’ off.”

Dwalin came in, flopping face down on his side of the bed with a groan. Ori giggled and joined him, giving him a little push. 

“How’s it goin’ out there?”

“Balin’s mostly keepin’ the lot of them under control. He’s got them all holed up in his rooms, Thorin’s just called down to the cellers though…”

He gave a long sigh, “We’re never gonna have a moment alone again lass, are we?”

“Mmm, probably not. We should probably just cut out the middle man and set up a pallet for Dori and Balin on the floor.”

Dwalin opened one red eye and glared at her, “Don’t even joke about such things, lass.”

He rolled over onto his back and looked at her, taking Ori’s hand and kissing her knuckles, “I do love you, Ori.”

She smiled down at him, “I love you too.”

“Oh…almost slipped me mind…” Dwalin dug a hand into his pocket, “I want ta give this to ye before the bloody parade starts tomorrow…”

He handed Ori a little wooden box, one from a jeweller’s. She pulled open the hinged lid and gave an intake of breath. 

“Oh…oh they’re huge! Dwalin! Where did ye ever find pearls this big?” Ori gingerly picked up one of the pair of gold pendant earrings, turning it over in her hand. The first part of the pendant was a gold disk, on one side the mark of the House of Fundin, on the other the mark of her own family. Beneath that hung a pearl the size of a peach pit!

Dwalin smiled and sat up, brushing Ori’s hair off her shoulder and sliding one of the earrings through the hole in her ear, “Tricked ‘em off a water fairy, just for you. Do ye like ‘em?”

“They’re beautiful,” Ori slid the other into her ear, “Pass me me hand mirror.”

Ori admired herself in the mirror. Oh, they were so nice! Pearls were rare, Dwarves being a people not fond enough of water to make an effort to properly cultivate them. They had long been considered symbols of fertility among their own people however, and a pair of pearl earrings was a customary gift to new mothers…though not many of them received ones quite so large. 

Dwalin leant over and nuzzled Ori’s neck, “They suit ye well. Perhaps I’ll find ye a whole necklace to match.”

Ori giggled, “I could only wear it in our bedroom…Dori’d pitch a fit if I wore a whole pearl necklace out.”

“I wouldn’t mind…” he murmured, planting a kiss on her neck. 

There was a knock at the door and with a sigh Dwalin sat back. Dorlin woke at the sharp sound and gave a little whimper, Ori getting up and scooping her out of the crib. Dwalin got the door. 

Nori backed in, a tray with Ori’s dinner on it, a big plate of steak and chips with gravy, Dori bringing up the rear with a mug of sweet tea. Dwalin took the baby as Nori set the tray down in front of Ori on the bed, kissing her on the temple. 

“There we go petal, you tuck in. There’s plenty more out there if yer still hungry…”

“Mister Bilbo’s brought over some lovely new peaches if you feel like something sweet after as well,” Dori added. 

Ori was barely listening, her knife and fork already sinking into the plump steak placed in front of her. The moment the meat touched her tongue Ori was gone; that steak was, without a doubt, the best thing she had ever tasted. 

The steak disappeared quickly, followed by the chips, the mug of tea emptying in quick gulps. Dori bought more tea and the peaches cut into halves with fresh cream, Ori downing them with similar speed. The heat of the food settled warmly into her stomach, radiating outwards and filling her with the special contentment only a full belly can bring. Dori and Nori passed Dorlin between each other, Nori staring down at his niece with something close to wonder, as if he wasn’t quite she was real yet. 

Feeling significantly more content, Ori sat back against her pile of pillows with a happy sigh. She asked for Dorlin back and then looked down at her baby, her precious little girl. She had moved around in her swaddling, her little fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. Ori brushed her finger tip over the tiny perfect fingernails and Dorlin reached out, shifting and poking out her little tongue. 

But oh…Ori was tired, so tired. She hadn’t slept properly in a week before the birth and her whole body felt as if it was made of lead, her eyes barely staying open. She didn’t remember who took Dorlin from her arms or tucked her into bed, all she knew was that sleep found her almost instantly as soon as head touched the pillow

~*~*~

The next morning, after Ori had had possibly the best night’s sleep she’d had since…well, since coming to Erebor (Dorlin had only woken once, and had settled quickly once Ori had picked her out of the crib and brought her into her and Dwalin’s bed), she allowed herself to wake slowly, just enjoying the stillness of the morning. Dorlin was still asleep, the house was quiet, Dwalin’s side of the bed empty but still warm. She gave herself plenty of time to wake up, today would be busy, today was the viewing. 

Among all the peoples of Middlearth, bar the Elves possibly, the Dwaves experienced child birth the least. A healthy new baby, while a cause for celebration amongst any peoples, was of particular significance among the Dwarves, and there was a host of rituals and celebrations which went along with such. In a month Dorlin would be given her first blessing, in six Dwalin and Ori would participate in one of the most sacred of rites, her Naming, where her true name would be chosen and whispered into her ear, at a year she would be presented to the people of Erebor and properly welcomed into the community. 

All of these important milestones were to come, but for today, the second day of Dorlin’s life, there was the viewing. Family and close friends would come to view the baby, meet her for the first time, and present gifts to both her and her mother. Ori was excited, as only a new mother could be, at the thought of showing Dorlin off (Dorlin was, of course, the most beautiful baby to be found in Middlearth and possibly beyond). 

Ori got up and took Dorlin into the nursery, changing her nappy and slipping on a new bunny suit on her. She was thinking of a quick wash and then getting dressed herself but was hit with a wave of tiredness, feeling weak and almost shaky as she picked Dorlin off of the changing table and walked back into the bedroom. She placed Dorlin down on the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, just for a moment, just to catch her breath. She sat like that for a while, her head spinning. She really should get up, she needed to wash, at least change her cloth and unders, the bleed was heavy after birth. 

Maybe in a moment. Just a moment to clear her head. Ori lay down beside Dorlin, taking long even breaths. 

The loss of contact with her Mother, the one Dorlin knew before all others, the center of her tiny world, was quite disturbing to the baby, especially as she was hungry and had been expecting a feed. So Dorlin started to cry, the only thing she could do to voice her distress. 

Ori tried to pick Dorlin up and calm her but she seemed so heavy all of a sudden, her hands shaking as she tried to draw her closer. Oh…she was still so tired…

Dorlin’s cries brought Dwalin into the room, thinking Ori must be up and about and wanting some breakfast. The sight that greeted him, Ori on her side on top of the bed, her skin pale and sallow, unable to hold their daughter, bought the whole Mountain crashing down around him. 

He made a strangled noise and rushed to her side, “Ori! Ori lass! Oh Mahal…NORI! DORI!”

Nori appeared at the bedroom door first, face turning to one of horror as he saw Ori on the bed, Dwalin pulling her into a sitting position.

“Run! Get Oin, as fast as ye can!”

Nori didn’t say a word, giving only a quick nod and making a run for the door. Dwain never thought he’d be thankful for Nori’s fleetfootedness but he was grateful for it now. Dori came running at the noise, pancake batter oozing onto the kitchen floor from the mixing bowl he’d dropped. 

“Quick! Grab Dorlin, then help me with Ori.” 

Dori nodded, quickly picking Dorlin off the bed and placing her down gently in her crib, still crying. He turned back to the bed and at Dwalin’s direction quickly piled pillows on Ori’s side of the bed, then slid an arm under her knees and helped him push her into a sitting position, supported by the cushions. 

Ori’s head flopped back against the cushions, “I’m alrigh’…just a little woozy…’m alrigh’…”

“Course ye are sweet,” Dwalin said firmly, “We’re just gonna get ye settled back in bed, then Oin’s gonna see ya.”

Dori nodded, “That’s right love, you just rest a little while longer.”

He started to arrange the sheets over her again, stopping when he saw stark red stains on the cotton. Dori paused, only for a moment, then looked back up at Ori, giving her his best attempt at a comforting smile.

Dwalin held tight to Ori’s hand, not daring to let go, patting her face when her eyes fluttered closed. Dori took Dorlin out of the room, her crying upsetting Ori. 

Dwalin wasn’t sure how Nori got to Oin’s house and back so quickly, Oin in tow, but he didn’t really care at this stage. Oin calmly put his healer’s bag down on the floor and ushered Dwalin, Dori and Nori out of the room with a few curt words, closing the bedroom door behind him. Dwalin paced, praying silently. He’s not a praying man, but he prays to Mahal now. He’ll do anything if Ori lives, build a temple, _ten_ temples with his bare hands, he’ll never swear or drink too much or roll his eyes at Oin when he speaks of the portents ever again! 

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in the silent living room, the brothers and Dwalin not daring to speak. Dori sat on the edge of the couch, Dorlin gurgling against his shoulder, he patting at her back absently. He tried not to think of having to raise his niece as he had raised Ori but the thought came unbidden, festering in his mind like an ugly sore. 

After what felt like an eternity, Oin poked his head out the door and asked for some clean towels and a bowel of hot water. 

“Hot, not boiling mind, and three or four towels should do us, thank you very much.”

Dori bought a pile of clean towels from the linen closet while Nori ran to the kitchen. He searched Oin’s face for any hint, any sign, of how Ori was as he handed everything over but there was little to be found. 

The door closed again, Dwalin and the brothers waiting once more. This time Oin was inside a shorter period before came out, motioning Dwalin over. Dwalin tried to read his face as he stepped over, trying to see how bad the news was. 

Oin, never one for pleasantries, cut right to the chase, speaking softly, “She’s been bleedin’ very heavily, but she just passed a large clot which I think was tha last o’ the placenta, I think tha worst is passed. 

Relief washed over Dwalin, almost making him feel faint himself, “What does she need? What can I do?”

“I’m gettin’ to that. Mister Dori,” Oin spoke over Dwalin’s shoulder, “There’s an old sayin’ that a cup o’ tea can solve many an ache an’ ailment, is there not…”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Dori said with a quick nod, handing Dorlin off to Nori and hurrying back into the kitchen. 

“Two sugars in mine, thank you. Now, come in here Mister Dwalin…” Oin gestured for Dwalin to follow him into the bedroom, “I’ve got somethin’ I want ta show ye.”

Oin sat Dwalin down on the edge of the bed and instructed him in how to massage Ori’s lower belly to encourage her womb to shrink and contract, the bleeding to slow. 

“Do this every few hours, before meals. Make sure our lass eats every two hours or so, little and often.”

Dori came into the bedroom room, holding two mugs of tea, Oin took one and pressed the rim to Ori’s lips, encouraging her to drink. 

“There we are lassie, drink it all up. Nothin’ like a nice hot cuppa to see ye to rights.”

Later, as Oin was leaving, writing down a few more instructions about what foods were helpful after blood loss on a scrap of parchment, he pulled Dwalin aside.

“I’ll have Harkur come over around lunch but send for me by tonight if she’s still bleeding at the same rate. Ye should know…beyond this there isn’t much I can do for the lass. It’s up ta you and her now.”

The whole room seemed to contract around Dwalin, closing in around him at Oin’s words. The thought of losing Ori, their daughter growing up without her Mum, having to live the rest of his life without her beside him. His head spun. They’d had so little time together, not even two years…compared to the years Dwalin had spent searching for his love. He had just found a tiny piece of happiness and comfort after so many hard years of wandering and battle…to lose it now, he wasn’t sure he could survive that. 

Oin grabbed Dwalin’s shoulder and gave him a shake, “Alrigh’ now, none o’ that. You got a lass in there who needs ya and a new bairn besides. Speakin’ o’ which, Dorlin needs a feed. If we were anywhere else I’d tell ye ta bring in a wet nurse but there isn’t another dwarrow dam nursin’ between here an’ the Iron Hills. Yer gonna have to hold Dorlin for Ori while she nurses, layin’ behind her with her arms around her waist is the easiest way…”

Oin mimed how he wanted Dwalin to assist and Dwalin quickly nodded, a task to attend to doing much to push his darkest thoughts to the corners of his mind. Oin said his goodbyes to the family, taking a moment to bounce Dorlin in his arms as Dori showed him to the door. 

Dorlin wasn’t very impressed, she was grizzling constantly now, hungry and upset by all this movement between different arms. Dwalin took her back from Dori and held her close for a moment. His sweet girl, with her bushy black hair and round little cheeks. Dwalin pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. Dorlin stopped her whimpers and opened her eyes, looking right up into Dwalin’s for just a moment…

Right. Dwalin steeled himself. No more faffing about. His wife and child needed him. 

Ori had perked up a little after the cup of tea but was still pale, and grumbled when Dwalin told her what he was going to do. 

“I can do it myself. Yer all makin’ a big fuss outta nothin’!”

Dwalin lightly tugged one of Ori’s plaits, “Humour me would ya lass? If ye feel alrigh’ after the first feed ye can do the next one by yerself.”

Word travelled quickly underground. Practically by the time Oin had left word had got around that Ori was not doing well after the birth. Balin rushed back from his offices as soon as he heard and took Dori in his arms as soon as he walked through the door. 

“Is she alright? And wee Dorlin?”

Dori took a deep breath, “Dorlin’s fine. Ori’s weak, she’s been bleedin’ heavily but Oin said it could be much worse. She’s a strong young lass, he thinks she’ll pull through.”

Dori didn’t realise his hands were trembling until Balin took them in his own, “And you? How are you dearest?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Dori gave a dismissive shake of his head, “Are you hungry? Maybe a cup of tea, you left before breakfast this morning…”

“Your hands are shaking…” Balin lead Dori over to a chair, “Sit down. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“I was halfway through pancakes when we found her…oh! There’s that mess in the kitchen. I have to get to it before someone slips and does themselves an injury!”

Dori tried to stand but found firm hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place, “Ah, stay put if you please. You’re white as a sheet! I’m going to clean up in the kitchen, _you’re_ going to sit down for a moment.”

A silence settled over Dwalin and Ori’s home, all the inhabitants moving through it on slippered feet. Dwalin was only to be found by Ori’s side. He held Dorlin when Ori nursed her, cradling both his wife and daughter from behind, massaged Ori’s belly as Oin had taught him, taking her into the bath and helping her wash then bringing her breakfast. 

After that Ori was tired, and as Oin had said she would need plenty of rest, Dwalin tucked her back into bed, then pulled a chair up beside her. She looked up at Dwalin and gave a weak smile. 

“Will ye sing me somethin’…somethin’ nice…”

Dwalin took her hand, “O’ course, love. Which song?”

“Ye know the one…”

Dwalin smiled down at her and brought her knuckles to his lips before he started to hum the opening bars to the song. It was one of the most ancient of their songs, and not an easy one at that. Dwalin doesn't count himself as one of those dwarrows who is particularly gifted when it comes to singing, he’s always favoured his viol in any case, but he likes to sing the old love songs to Ori, and this one is her favourite: the First Song, the song Durin sung to Mahal as he watched him carve his wife, the first dwarrowdam, from the rock itself, so precious that Durin sang that he was certain a vein of diamonds and rubies ran right through her flesh. 

And so Dwalin sang until Ori slept, and stayed in his place for many hours after that, watching over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with this chapter but I just had to get it out, it was driving me mad. :/ Sorry about the long wait again guys, it's been a hard couple of weeks at work.


	23. Chapter 23

High up in the Mountain, in the grand new Council chambers, Thorin, King Under the Mountain Reclaimed, sat barely listening to the report being told to him by one of the head miners. 

The eastern silver mine was almost at pre-Smaug depths, and three months ahead of schedule, your Majesty. All well and good, Thorin thought, his fingers tapping impatiently at the arms of his chair, but even if they dug to the very centre of Middlearth itself it would not counter the blow to the Mountain which would come if Ori or her child did not live. 

He had been one of the first to know after Balin. Gloin had come to his cousin as soon as Nori had appeared at their door, slamming his fist against the thick wood, waking Gridr and insisting Oin come to their home right this instant. Ori was bleeding. Ori was ill. 

As soon as Gloin had told Balin and the Lord had left, pulling on his coat and leaving his mug of morning coffee untouched, he had gone straight to Thorin to inform him. Gloin was a clever dwarrow, Oin had always had been preoccupied with herbs and plants, portents and matters of a spiritual nature, but Gloin was of more practical stock. He took after his mother in that sense and that plus a keen sense for business had made him one of the richest dwarrows in Erid Luin in the years of exile. He understood as well as Thorin did how important that baby and her mother was. 

Thorin dismissed the miners and other councillors apart from Gloin and stood. He paced, feeling more powerless by the moment. He thought of Dwalin and how happy he had been since his marriage to Ori, how many years he had been looking for a dwarrowdam to be his wife. In their youth, Thorin had teased Dwalin about it endlessly, finding his romantic ideas about home and hearth quaint…almost childish. As they had grown older and Dwalin’s search had continued without finding his one, Thorin had admired his friend’s stubbornness, had felt his heart break with him as relationships came to an end. Knowing Dwalin as he did he knew his friend wouldn’t survive Ori’s death. He would follow her to the Halls and Thorin would lose two companions, not just one. 

His mind turned to Dis and how close she was to the young woman, he thought of how excited Kili and Fili had been about the birth, of Dori and Nori and how devastated they must be, and finally he thought of Ori. He remembered how young and yet how passionate she had been that first night in Bilbo’s house…it seemed like an Age ago now. Thorin had been impressed then by what he thought was a clever young scribe, he’d hoped the lad would become friends with Fili and Kili, he’s thought it was important there be some young men on the Quest. Durin’s beard, he’d been such a fool. 

“Your Majesty…” Gloin said, pulling Thorin from his thoughts, “Would you like me to send Oin to ye after he has finished with Lady Ori, he can give ye a full report…”

“Hmm? Yes…yes that would be appreciated Mister Gloin,” Thorin was silent again for a moment. He wandered over to the open window which dominated most of the left wall of the Council Chamber and looked out, the view letting him see far to the west, the edges of the Mirkwood coating the rim of the horizon. 

“Do you believe your brother can heal her, Mister Gloin?” he asked after some time. 

“There are none under the Mountain who have a better chance, your Majesty.”

“This is true…” Thorin gave a short grunt, “If only that blasted wizard had decided to stay a little longer…”

He seemed to think a little longer before he turned and spoke to Gloin, “Have Oin come to me when he has time…and prepare a raven. If she worsens…I will send word to the Mirkwood and request an elven healer.”

Gloin eye’s went wide, he couldn’t stop a small choked noise escaping his mouth, “You would…you would go to _them_? You would allow _them_ to see to one of our women?”

“Let us pray I do not have to, Mister Gloin. I have great faith in your brother, make no mistake, but Lady Ori must live. We both know isolation has been of no aid to Erebor in the past. You understand…you know as well as I do what she and Dorlin mean to the Mountain.”

Gloin let out a breath through his nose, “To all of us.”

They both understood. Ori was more than just a young lass with a baby now, more even than the scribe and historian of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. She and Dorlin were new beginnings, hope for the Mountain, proof that Erebor had been worth fighting and dying for. 

Gloin bowed his head and took his leave. Thorin returned to his seat, refusing to see anyone else for the rest of the day. 

~*~*~

To the East, in an area of Erebor which was fast becoming known as the heart of the Broadbeam and Firebeard community, Bifur sat down at the lunch table in Gheta’s household, she smiling at him and squeezing his hand as Iusi handed out the plates. The front door slammed closed and they looked up to Nohl coming in, helping Gher with his coat and with little Rohl on his hip. 

“Harkur will be late for lunch,” he said by way of greeting, “Mister Oin has him checking up on Lady Ori.”

“Oh aye,” Gheta looked up where Iusi was serving slices of cold steak and kidney pie onto the plates, “How’s she doin’?”

“Not well apparently…Gher, don’t just leave your boots on the floor, if you please, we don’t live in a mine…he wasn’t clear on the details but he’s apparently to check on her every day until further notice from his Master.”

“Mahal above, poor lass,” Iusi said with a cluck of his tongue, he turned to face down the hall towards the bedrooms, “NHETA…NHETA, LUNCH IS ON SWEET, COME AND GET SOMETHING TO EAT!”

“COMING!” came the reply from her room. 

The middle boys, Nusi, Gher and Tarkur, now all seated, were bouncing in place, ready to tear into lunch. Nohl handed Rohl off to Gheta and took his seat next to Bifur, giving him a warm smile. 

“How nice it is for you to join us for lunch, Mister Bifur,” he said, bowing his head, “We do enjoy seeing you.”

Bifur bowed his head in return, _“Thank you kindly. Did Mister Harkur mention what the problem was?”_

“He only mentioned she required bed rest and much care,” Nohl patted Bifur’s hand, “Do not worry yourself, Mister Bifur, I am certain she will be well.”

With a clatter and a lot of banging Nheta came barreling down the hall for lunch, grabbing her Mum in a hug about the neck, kissing her father on the cheek as she passed and ruffling all the younger boys’ hair as she moved down the table. Bifur couldn’t help but smile, there was a lass who knew she was the heart and centre of that family, universally adored and indulged. 

“Is Lady Ori not well?” she asked as she sat down, flicking the long braid of her hair behind her shoulder. 

“No love, she’s a bit poorly after the birth,” Gheta answered her, picking off a piece of pastry from her slice of pie for Rohl to chew on.

“Ah no! Will she be alright?”

“I’m sure she will, dear,” Iusi spoke this time, “Bifur can speak to how tough Lady Ori is, she’s hardier than she looks.”

Nheta nodded and tucked into her pie, “I always think when I see her that she looks like just what a Longbeard lady is meant to look like, all small and…you know…ladylike…”

The rest of the lunch progressed normally, everyone eating their fill and Nohl then clearing the plates while Iusi took the smaller boys (both of them proudly carrying the new toys Bifur had bought them clutched close to their chests) to wash up and get ready for their afternoon rests. Nheta took her brother Nusi and half brother Gher into the room the family had set aside for the children’s school work to work at their lessons for a few hours. 

Gheta took Bifur to sit outside the house, next to the small mushroom garden Harkur had been cultivating outside the front door. They sat and smoked their pipes in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company and little privacy in a household which didn’t provide much of that to a courting couple. That was one of the things Gheta liked most about Bifur, he was someone you could just sit and be quiet with, but when he did choose to speak about something, you knew it was important. 

_“Did ye enjoy lunch?”_ she asked in kuzduhl. 

_“Very much so…”_ Bifur slipped his hand inside hers and gave it a squeeze, _“Iusi makes a good pie…and I do like seeing the children.”_

Gheta smiled at that, _“They like seein’ you too. Nheta loves your stories about the Company…”_

_“She’s a good lass.”_

_“Aye. She’d love it if ye came everyday…”_

Bifur was silent a moment, a smirk lifting the corners of his lips. He squeezed her hand again. Gheta ran her teeth over her bottom lip and made a ‘hem-hem’ noise, starting to speak again. 

_“She’s mad on joining tha guard already, ya know? Wants to settle here. Course we might get her on a road train to Erid Mithrin in a couple o’ decades, visit some family, find her a nice lad to get her own brood started…there’s plenty of time for all that though. A-hem…no need to rush things.”_

Bifur smiled again at that, nodding his head and taking another drag of his pipe. They spent a large part of the afternoon like that, smoking and enjoying the quiet together. 

~*~*~

Back in Ori’s home, a minor war was being waged in the kitchen over the very meal which had been so peaceful at Gheta’s: lunch. Dori had been in a state all morning since Ori’s fainting spell, Balin was firmly of the opinion Dori should be taking things easy but he was insisting on cooking a full lunch by himself. Nori had offered to put something on himself, Balin even suggested they help while Dori directed them, and still Dori was snapping that he would do it all himself, Thank You Very Much!

“Just let us help, Dori!” Nori hotly protested.

“No! You don’t know how she likes it! And don’t yell! You’ll wake them both!” Dori hissed, pulling a pot from Nori’s hand and stalking over to the sink to fill it with water. 

Nori threw up his hands in frustration and stormed out of the kitchen, growling “Don’t know why ye bloody bother mate” to Balin as he passed. 

Balin narrowed his eyes, regarding Dori closely, “Are we at least allowed to set the plates or would you like the keep the table free for martyring yourself on?”

Dori drew himself up to his full height, hands on hips and ready to tell Mister Pointy-boots Know-It-All exactly what he thought of him when there was a quick fire of knocks on the door. Balin and Dori held each other’s eyes for a moment longer before Dori gave a dismissive grunt and turned back towards the sink and his half peeled carrots. Balin threw his hands wide, a defeated gesture, and went to get the door. 

On the other side was plump young Harkur, his healer’s bag in hand and a small, sympathetic smile on his face. 

“Good day, Lord Balin.”

“Ah, Mister Harkur, we were waiting on your arrival. Do come in.”

Balin lead Harkur to Ori and Dwalin’s room, knocking and waiting for Dwalin to answer the door. Harkur slipped inside as soon as the door opened. Dwalin gave his older brother a tired smile, leaning against the door. 

“Do ye need anything?” Balin asked, gripping Dwalin’s forearm in a comforting gesture. 

“A few more towels…she’s layin’ on them to save the sheets.”

Balin nodded and went to the linen closet to grab a few more thick towels, handing them over to Dwalin then letting him return to Ori and Harkur. Balin returned to the kitchen and sighed when he saw Dori over the kitchen sink, apparently trying to peel the carrots in his hands down to matchsticks. 

Balin just shook his head and started setting plates on the table. He knew when to leave well enough alone. 

~*~*~

Pfaff came back from the market with the news which was spreading like wildfire through Erebor. She’d run into Mister Harkur on his way back from Ori’s household and though she had tried to avoid him (as she did with all of Gheta’s husbands, she could not stop Bifur’s courtship of their wife but she would be _damned_ before she would put on an act that she approved) she had been pulled into a conversation about how his day had been which of course had led to where he had just been. 

Pfaff had shaken her head at the news. Poor Lady Ori. She was such a clever wee thing, but so young, married and with a new baby at 79. Pfaff had not had her first until she was 103 and even then she had been the youngest of her friends with a child. A fellow like Bombur only comes around once in an age though, you don’t let someone like that get away. 

Back in her own home she handed the groceries off to Bilbo and Bombur to start lunch. She sat down at the kitchen table and let Urat crawl into her lap for a cuddle, telling her husband and Bilbo what she had heard. 

Bilbo dropped the spud he’d been peeling and looked up, “Missus Ori isn’t well?”

“She’s quite poorly apparently,” Pfaff made a sympathetic grimace, shaking her head, “As me Mum always said, a pregnancy before a century is a quick route to a short life…”

“Ahh, don’t be like that love,” Bombur came over and kissed Pfaff on her forehead, placing a fresh cup of tea down in front of her on the table, “She doesn’t look tough but I saw that girl smash many a goblin’s head in with her husband’s hammer, there’s no small amount of courage in her.”

“I still think it’s a minor miracle she made it through the birth so well in the first place,” Pfaff dipped her finger in her tea and let Urat suck on it, “It’s a wonder those Longbeard gels can pass gas through those tiny hips, let alone an actual child.”

Bombur gave a short grunt, not quite a laugh, and shook his head, heading into the pantry only to be stopped by Bilbo who was on his way out. The Halfling had his market basket over one arm, half full of things he had pulled from the pantry. Bombur blinked as Bilbo passed him. 

“I’m heading to the market then over to Ori and Dwalin’s,” he said, a firm tone to his voice, “Tell Bofur I might not be home tonight.” 

Bilbo picked up a few more things from the kitchen counter (a few sweetbuns left over from breakfast, apples from the fruit basket, a little pot of the shortening he liked to use for frying). Bombur blinked again and stepped out of his way as Bilbo leant in to kiss Urat on the cheek then Pfaff and Bombur himself. 

“Don’t let Bofur worry. I’ll only be away for a few days, until she’s back on her feet.”

And then before Bombur could reply, or Pfaff could make comment that Ori had plenty of people around her who would help her through this, Bilbo was out of the kitchen, pulling on his coat and making his way for the door. 

Bombur and Pfaff looked at each other, Bombur couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well…” 

“Well indeed,” Pfaff took another sip of her tea. 

~*~*~

The news reached other parts of the Mountain a little later. Yohi, daughter of Torit, heard from her father when he came home after lunch. Apparently Lord Balin had missed all of his meetings today to return home and care for Lady Ori. Ohi looked up from where she sat by a low torch, jeweller’s glass in her eye as she examined a gem Father had asked her to cut. 

“Oh…oh that is sad…” Ohi said softly, putting down her tools. 

“Oh yes, a tragedy,” Yohi replied, no small amount of sarcasm on her tongue.

“Yohi…” Ohi gave a small reprimand, as much as she dared with Yohi, “That isn’t kind.”

“Oh shut up. It serves her right for being a slattern.”

Ohi didn’t say anything back, just went back to the ruby, examining its lines and clarity. 

“I heard she was brought on the Quest as a bedwarmer, you know! Poor Lord Dwalin probably doesn’t even know if that baby is his.”

Ohi’s lips tightened. She loved her sister, she really did. Family was all you could be sure of in this life, as Mother was fond of saying. But sometimes loving Yohi was quite hard. 

“If he does not know if the baby is his why did he marry her?” Ohi blurted out, before she could even think of her words. Oh dear, oh dear, dear, dear, now she would be cross. 

Yohi’s eyes narrowed, her fair and lovely skin became sheet white with anger, “Well obviously she tricked him! Durin’s balls, you’re stupid sometimes.”

Ohi fell silent, looking back at the ruby. Yohi flopped on the couch and sighed. She picked up a book and put it down again, rooted through her mending basket as if something interesting had appeared there in the last hour or so. Mahal she was bored. So bored. She had no friends here under the Mountain, none at least that were not busy with their own families. Only bloody Ohi and all her sniveling nonsense. 

As she often did when she was bored (which was also often), Yohi allowed herself to daydream. With perhaps a small degree of vindictive pleasure she thought of if Ori weakening and then dying, not painfully, not in some awful way, just slipping off as dwarrowdams sometimes did after birth. It would be very sad, there would be many tears and a great funeral where she was laid to rest in the rock. Yohi would pay her respects of course and tell Dwalin how very, very sorry she was he had lost his young wife. 

She would be such a comfort to him in this difficult time, and they would grow closer, almost like they had been all those years ago. And, after a suitable period of mourning (five years or so was perfectly respectable but not _over_ long) Dwalin would realize his love for her, they would marry and what had been meant to be would finally _be_. She would be the wife Lord Dwalin of the House of Fundin, direct descendant of Durin the Deathless. 

…Of course there was that baby to think of. Ah, they could just pass her off on one of Ori’s brothers. They’d be happy to take her. Yes, that would work out nicely. Then they could start life anew, their wonderful married life together. 

Yes, that would be perfect. 

~*~*~

Later that afternoon as Ori was sleeping again and Nori was playing with Dorlin on the floor, shaking a brightly painted wooden rattle above her head and letting her wriggle her arms and legs around in the warmth in front of the fire, a knock came on the door. He got up to answer and found Bilbo on the other side, a determined set to his mouth and a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables over one arm. Bilbo quickly talked his way into Ori’s home. 

“Now, don’t get me wrong, Mister Nori, I have no doubt between the four of you Ori will lack for nothing, but who will be looking after you? You need someone to make sure the pantry is full and dinner is on the table, plus I have some experience of ladies after a birth, Ori will need to eat every few hours, and it will need to be appealing…”

Bilbo went on to explain that his mother had been one of twelve children, three of them her sisters, and although Belladonna had only had one child, her sisters had all been as fertile as Bilbo’s dear Granny Chubb. Bilbo had spent many days of his childhood and tween years up in Tuckborough, preparing a meal or throwing a cake in the oven, collecting eggs or picking up a load of washing from the local laundry ladies, being _helpful_ in some way. 

“So you can see, I know what I’m talking about Mister Nori. Now, help me put these away and I’ll get started on afternoon tea. Some scones and an apple upside-down cake should do us in a pinch, don’t you agree? Now, does Ori need more water? ”

Nori blinked, “I bought her a cup or two before she went to sleep…”

“’A cup or two!?’” Bilbo blinked rapidly and then shook his head, “No, no, no, she must have a jug of water by her bed at all times while she’s nursing. She needs to taking in twice the liquid she’s putting out. If you would be so kind and find me a jug, Mister Nori, it would be most appreciated; I’ll put some lemon slices in it to make it a little more exciting. Goodness me, is that the baby lying on the floor there?”

By the time Dori woke up from the after lunch nap Balin had suggested ( _demanded_ ) he take, Mister Bilbo had firmly ensconced himself in the kitchen, a fresh cake was cooling near one of the air vents and a large pan of fluffy scones were coming out of the oven. Ori had a fresh jug of water by her bed, the laundry lady had been called to collect the extra sets of sheets and towels which needed washing, the living room had been freshened and Dorlin was clean, dry and as content as a two day old could be. 

It was when Dori sat down, calmly accepting a piece of cake from Bilbo, and letting the hobbit actually _put the kettle on_ , that Nori realised two things. Firstly, how much Ori’s illness was affecting Dori, and secondly, how much Bilbo’s help would be needed, for the next few days at least. 

Dwalin came out of Ori’s room where he had been dozing beside her in bed and sat down at the table, rubbing a hand over his head. 

“How is she?” Dori asked simply. 

“About the same. She’s still restin’.”

“Well, we have scones with jam and fresh cream for when she wakes, I know she likes those. Nothing like strawberry jam to put a rose back in the cheek.”

Dwalin looked up at Bilbo as he puttered around the kitchen, noticing him for the first time, and raised an eyebrow. He looked over at Nori, as if for explanation. Nori just looked heavenward and shook his head. Best not to question it, at least there were scones... 

When the others had their afternoon teas in front of them, Bilbo loaded up the breakfast tray and took it into the master bedroom, setting it down on Ori’s vanity as he came in. He only had to touch Ori’s shoulder and she came awake, her eyes slowly coming open. Bilbo kept a warm smile on his face as she woke. Oh, but she did look unwell, her face very pale, skin ashen, even her hair looked dull and limp. 

“Mister Bilbo…what are you doin’ here?” she asked, trying to sit herself up. She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to make herself look presentable. 

“Just lending a hand where it’s needed. Here, let me help you up, I’ve bought you afternoon tea.”

Ori accepted Bilbo’s help into a sitting position and then let him pile pillows behind her back. He set the breakfast tray over her lap. 

“Where’s Dorlin?” 

“I think I last saw her with your Mister Dwalin. Oh, he just thinks she’s the most precious thing. Of course we all think that, but you can just see it on his face how much he loves her. Now, I want to see that plate empty Missus, and your milk all drunk, and I’ll bring Dorlin in.”

Ori moved a scone around her plate and gave a little sigh. She watched Bilbo putter around the room and was reminded of a different room in a town further down the River Running, “Do you remember that morning you bought me breakfast in Laketown? Before the battle?”

Bilbo gave a chuckle, “How could I forget? I think you and I were two of the only members of the Company on speaking terms that morning.”

“I found out I was pregnant that day…” Ori’s mouth wobbled all of a sudden, she gave a long sniff, “I…I just want ta be a good Mum…”

“Oh…oh…please Ori dear, no tears now. No tears, or you will set me off as well and then where will we be? Just a big crying mess.” Bilbo used his thumb to wipe over Ori’s cheeks where a few tears had fallen. 

“How can I be a good Mum though w-when I can’t even hold my baby? I can’t even feed her by meself, I can’t get outta bed without feelin’ like I’m about to collapse…”

More tears came, despite Bilbo’s words. Despite the fact she had been sleeping almost all day, Ori still felt a tiredness deep in bones, her whole body ached from the birth and her head was light. She felt weak; surely other dwarrowdams did not suffer this after birthing? Surely they were stronger, more suited to motherhood than her. Dis or Gridr or Pfaff would never have allowed themselves to be like this!

“You are ill!” Bilbo said firmly. He has prepared himself for this, melancholy in new mothers was common enough in the Shire. “You have…you have fought a great battle and now you need to recover your strength. Dorlin will be thankful in years to come when she has a strong healthy Mother by her side that you took care of yourself when she was too young to know whose arms held her.”

Ori wiped her face and hiccoughed, “I want my baby. I want Dorlin.”

“I will get Dwalin to bring her in right now…but…well…”

“But what?”

“He will be so upset if he sees you all teary,” Bilbo brought Ori a hanky from her vanity and let her blow her nose, “You know how he worries. How about you just drink your milk there? Dori made it with honey and nutmeg for you, just like you like. Drink it up, I’ll give your hair a brush, and you’ll be as pretty as a peach.”

Ori sniffled a little but wrapped her hands around the thick mug of milk, feeling the warmth seep into her cold hands. She took a sip, it tasted of comfort, of cold nights and the scratchy knitted blankets Dori used to wrap her in, of Mam’s old rocking chair and a soft singing voice Ori could sometimes hear in the corners of her mind. Ori hadn’t really missed her Mother in many years, not in the deep aching way she missed her now. All of a sudden she wanted so desperately for her Mam to be there, to tell her she was all right, that she was doing her best and she was proud of her little girl. 

She felt Bilbo run a brush through her hair, pulling it over her shoulder and wrapping a strip of leather around it to keep it in place. He let Ori finish her milk then handed her her beard comb. 

“There. Isn’t that better?” Bilbo gave her a warm smile, patting her hair one last time. 

“A bit.”

The Halfling cupped Ori’s face with his soft hand, “You are going to be a fine mother, Ori. I promise you will. But please, for me, let yourself recover. Remember how long Dwalin was abed after the Battle? And he is no less of a warrior for it, is he?”

Ori rolled her eyes, resolute in her self pity, “No…O’ course not.”

“Well there we are then! Now, I shall fetch Dwalin and Dorlin and I want at least one of those scone pieces gone by the time I get back.”

Bilbo poked the fire in Ori’s room on the way out and soon returned with Dwalin, Dorlin in his arms. He handed Dorlin to Ori then got into his side of the bed, wrapping an arm over his wife’s shoulders. 

Bilbo took Ori’s tray (noting she had at least taken a few bites of scone, that was something) and left her and Dwalin to each other. Dori was alone at the sink, washing up the dishes. 

“Where is Mister Nori…Mister Balin?” Bilbo asked, handing Dori the plate and mug on the tray. 

Dori took a long breath, “Someone came to the door and Nori had to pop out. Balin is bringing some of my clothes over from our house.”

“Ah…” Bilbo was silent a while, trying to pick his words carefully, “You’ll be…ahem…staying in Balin’s apartments then…”

The mug Dori was washing slipped out of his hands and fell back into the dishwater, making a loud sper-lunk noise. Dori loudly cleared his throat. 

“You know, the architecture in this part of the Mountain is really very strange,” he said quickly, “I would normally stay in one of the guest suites, Mister Bilbo, but they’re such a long walk down that hall there. I’m actually much closer to Ori in Balin’s suite, oddly enough…in case she needs something…”

“Oh yes, yes of course! I had not noticed it but now you mention it the guest rooms are quite far back.”

“Some may make comment, of course, Mister Bilbo, but Ori’s need is great at this time.”

“Oh yes, very great!”

“And really, what is impropriety in this modern age? Mister Balin is a very respectable gentle-dwarrow…”

“As are you, Mister Dori.”

“Oh well, thank you. But yes, if there are some base enough to gossip about two dwarrows sharing rooms…merely out of convenience mind in a time of family need…well, then they probably lead very dull lives, Mister Bilbo if I do say so myself!”

“Quite right. I have never been one for gossip myself, Mister Dori, I have to say. It’s much more of a _Sackville-Baggins_ sort of behaviour.”

Much later, when Ori and Dorlin were tucked into their beds, Dwalin settling in behind her, when Bilbo had settled in to one of the spare bedrooms and Nori had gone off to wherever it was he went at night, Dori finally slipped into Mister Balin’s apartments, pulling off his clothes and then sliding beneath Balin’s fine silk sheets. 

Balin was a strong, warm, wall of flesh beside Dori in bed, an arm reaching out and resting over Dori’s stomach. Balin took a long breath and made a contented noise, pressing a kiss to Dori’s shoulder. 

“Is everyone settled?”

Dori nodded, resting his hand on top of Balin’s and then intertwining their fingers. He hesitated before he spoke. 

“I…I’m sorry…about today. I’ve been behaving like a-“

“…Bear with a sick cub. Don’t worry yourself dear one, I understand.”

Dori’s whole body relaxed at Balin’s words, for the first time all day it seemed, “I’m just very used to doing things myself is all…all by myself. Looking after her by myself.”

“You aren’t all by yourself now,” Balin’s tone was kind, “She’s Dwalin’s wife and my sister now as well. We’re all here for her…we’re not going anywhere…” another kiss planted on Dori’s chest, “I know I’m not…unless you want me too…”

“Oh no…no, not at all. I…I am…very satisfied with our arrangement.”

“As am I,” Balin ran his hand down Dori’s side, running calloused fingers over the curve of belly and hip, “I did enjoy out time down in Dale last month.”

They had spent a wonderful week down in Dale together a month ago. The official reason for the trip had been to discuss trade between the Mountain, Dale and Laketown beyond, in truth though the trade agreements had been organised some months before, Balin’s presence only needed in order to sign the papers on the King’s behalf and perhaps attend a dinner in celebration. The trip could have been done easily in a day, but Balin had decided to bring Dori and made a holiday of it. 

They had spent the week in a luxurious room in the finest inn in Dale, Dori laid out naked on a huge bed, surrounded by silks and plush cushions, Balin bringing him sweets, fine wines and sharp cheeses. Dori had enjoyed it so much he’d even allowed himself to stop worrying about Ori, no small feat considering she had been 10 months pregnant at the time. Then every night they had pulled themselves out of bed and dressed, Dori taking Balin’s arm as he escorted him down to dinner. The Men of Dale and Laketown did not appreciate as fine a dwarven beauty as Dori, but when the two of them sat down for dinner with King Bard and his men, even they were charmed by the couple. 

Balin was a dwarrow who enjoyed the finer things in life, whether it was well made tailored clothing, a perfectly wrought sword or axe or a beautiful dwarrow, one with impeccable manners and tastes, on his arm. Dori would, without a doubt, make the perfect Lord’s husband when the time came, not to mention the other advantages of such a union. Make no mistake, Balin felt very strongly for Dori, but he would be a poor politician if he didn’t see the advantages of further tying the House of Ri to his own. Between the five of them they controlled over a third of the wealth of Erebor, only a fool would not try to solidify that allegiance with a second marriage. 

Still, it was not something to think of when Dori was clearly so vulnerable and in need of comfort. Balin started to unwind Dori’s beautiful silver hair from the simpler plaits he wore to bed, kissing his neck and chest as he did. 

There was much time to think of things like proposals and what sort of wedding would befit a dwarrow like Dori (they would wait two years at least, enough time to move beyond all of Dorlin’s important celebrations), in the meantime, Balin thought as he rolled on top of Dori, the other’s legs wrapping about his waist, there was much fun to be had in the courting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, another chapter up, relatively quickly this time too. Just for clarity's sake, Gheta has two children with Iusi: Nheta & Nusi, two with Nohl: Gher and Rohl, and one with Harkur: Tarkur. Hope you enjoy. :)


End file.
